Power of the Ocean
by Aveza
Summary: [SQL to Astrid][Jack's daughter fic] One Girl. One Dream. One Ship. One Course. One Love... And Distant Opportune Moments... All to Find... One Man. One Pirate. One Treasure. One's Self... and the father who never was.
1. Hostilities Against Port Royal

**Power of the Ocean**

**Part Two of the Astrid Series**

_Full Summary__: Astrid and Roland are finally out to sea to find Captain Jack Sparrow. The duo has enlisted on board a King's warship, Roland as a midshipman and Astrid as a ship's boy. But when she is discovered, she and Roland find themselves dumped onto the _Black Pearl_, but the captain is no longer Jack and brother and sister are separated. Without a ship or friend, Astrid stumbles upon a child with a secret to a hidden treasure… and also to her father. And as the winds change, powerful Astrid soon finds herself hauled into an adventure of mystery, revenge, and an insatiable thirst to defeat the power of the ocean._

_Chapter One: Hostilities Against Port Royal_

_She'll look to the sea  
For every escape,  
And fly she would,  
On the Blue Main._

_The fire in her heart,  
The call for adventure,  
Alone would her sea  
Allow to tame._

_Wishes goodbye,  
Love, be gone.  
She has a love for the sea.  
And there she'll fore'er remain  
_'_Til she's seen what she's wanted to see._

**A** thunderous boom whistled loudly across the black water, shooting a visible line directly into the concretion of fog. The break in the haze instantly reassembled, and I was trapped in the miasma. Another clap of thunder roared from a gun on the _Pearl_, and I ducked and lied atop the sandy ground.

"Roland!" I cried, finding it safe to get up again; but the fog still confused my already weak sense of direction. Without wasting another second, I fastened my sea bag over my shoulder and ran aimlessly towards the fort.

Another excruciating bang shrieked towards town, and I heard it grow tremendously louder by the second. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a rushing black sphere, and I lurched forward and fell to the ground again, my hands covering my ringing ears. With the high-pitched whistle gone, I cautiously looked up and was able to see a break in the mist. The ball of iron had crashed directly into a wall of familiar grey stones.

I had finally made it to the fort.

"Roland!" I shouted again, getting up and racing quickly to the entrance of the stronghold.

Cannon fire ensued once again, and I only managed to catch a faint, "Astrid!" in the discordant mess of blasts.

"Roland!"

I caught sight of an advancing black top hat, which I knew to be Roland's, and hailed him.

"For God's sake, where the hell have you been?" I demanded, giving him a well-deserved push. "I had to dodge about a million blows in order to find my way through the blasted fog!"

"As much as I admire your effort to arise those complaints to me, good _sir_," replied Roland, perhaps too much like a proper naval officer, "I must ask that you leave the firing area and find refuge in the center of the fort until our intruder has stepped foot on land."

"I can help," I insisted. I bolted my feet firmly to the stone surface.

"_Brother_," said Roland, remembering to keep my true identity veiled from the ears of the officers. "This is the wisest choice you could possibly make to save yourself. Now, hurry to the center of the fort where you shall be protected from certain death."

"Midshipman Turner!" came a cry.

It was Lieutenant Dyer.

"Take a group of men and file into town. Do not make any noise whatsoever. No talking, shouting—Nothing, understand?"

"Aye, sir," replied Roland.

"Lead any other civilians who are carrying out their civic duty in this town. The pirates have reached shore and scouts have informed us that their intent is to raid the city for weapons and treasure. Stop them."

"Aye, sir," saluted Roland, before he grabbed my arm and hauled me to the armory.

He spent less than a minute handing muskets and bayonets to the soldiers following his command, and although I was quite lost in all the commotion, I drew my sword and waited for Roland to issue the next order.

"We're ready. Now, what do we do?" I asked, unimpressed with the ordeal. Roland's face pinched in a scowl, and he replied to my mockery with sheer seriousness.

"This is not the time to be inappropriately sarcastic, _sir_," he said, taking a pistol and stuffing it into his belt. "Follow my lead and do not say a word—and those, dear brother, are _orders_."

As much as I wanted to dispose of time-consuming orders, I found myself complying to his directions; and with a strange feeling of eagerness sparking inside me, I followed him out of the fort and to the possible battle waiting in town.

Not a man said a word, and the only sound they gave off was the soft tap of their shoes against the gravel. Orders were to keep our mouths shut, but as soon as we reached shore, I would have no idea of what to do.

"Roland," I whispered.

"You call me 'Sir'," he corrected. "I am sorry if I seem rather supercilious, but these men around you can have you punished if they knew that you were addressing me without my title. You say 'Sir,' or 'Mister Turner.' It is rare that our common names are used on a ship, and therefore you must learn how to speak to the elite."

I didn't reply, and he interpreted my silence for a lack of comprehension.

"One must learn to communicate smoothly with both sailors and officers if orders are to be executed swiftly and efficiently," he clarified. He paused and with a silent gesture of his hand, halted his men. "Draw weapons," he commanded, his voice dropping to a whisper. Oddly enough, I could not hear any pirates running wildly onto shore waving their cutlasses about and screaming the whole town awake.

"Sir," I said, tugging on his sleeve. "I hear nothing."

"I believe your orders were not to speak," replied Roland. I shut up at that. "Hold fast, men," he said. "On my order, shoot, and then charge forward. For those without guns, stick with me."

That meant only one person: me.

Anxiously I waited for the enemy to finally show their faces in the fog. I was even jumping at the anticipation, and I had the urge to finally put my fencing lessons to the test. To my luck, I did not have to wait much longer. We heard a few satisfied snickers in the fog and Roland's eyes narrowed to make his aim precise. Then came the rattle of cutlasses and other metal items in the mist, mingled with the heavy footsteps of a fairly large group of men. I was about to die from the delay.

"Steady, men," whispered Roland. "On my word…"

_Words, smords. Show me some bloody pirates!_

"Aim… _Fire!_" The men fired their guns in unison and caught me completely by surprise. The blast seemed to make me deaf for a few moments, and the smoke from the shots found its way into my lungs, making me hack briefly. I wasn't sure if someone had called my name, for before I knew it, a sooty and sweaty man was charging straight at me, an axe raised to kill.

"Sword!" yelled someone distantly. My left hand tightened its grip on the hilt of my weapon, and I dodged the slow and heavy swing of the pirate who growled in response.

"C'mere, ya bloody—" A single shot rang out amidst the clamor of disorganized fighting and struck the pirate directly in the head. Shocked, the man fell to his knees and his head collapsed at my feet, his eyes rolling lifelessly.

"Well," I said, examining the dead pirate corpse. "That's... interesting." A firm hand seized the back of my shirt and pulled me away from the dead man. It was Roland, muttering something to me that I was too occupied to listen to.

"Don't hesitate to kill, Astrid," he said, calling me by my name for the first time since he was given orders. "That man would have chopped you in half were it not for me. I know this is new to you, but—" He paused, and, readying his pistol, shot a lethal blow to a rampaging pirate headed straight for us. "—this is _war_, and you must choose between mere entertainment or loyalty to your country. Therefore, next time a pirate is coming straight at you, skewer him."

Men. Such bloodthirsty hounds they were, but it was true. I had been too drenched in politesse to have the nerve to kill a man, but I knew I'd have to eventually. It was his life, or mine; but my hand was not familiar with savagery.

"Aye, sir," I answered complacently.

"Stick close to me."

"All right. But no shooting down my pirates. I can take care of myself," I said defiantly. Roland gave a huff and headed away from the shore and towards town, his pistol raised in the air.

As we continued running forward, the fog seemed to darken, changing from a pale grey to almost the color of ash. A familiar smell came along with the shift in hue, irritating my nose and making my eyes water. It was strong and heavy, and I knew it to be none other than the smell of smoke.

"They've set fire to the town, sir!" cried a man as he ran to Roland, his face perspiring and covered with filth. "Mainly to the shops, and some have spread to the houses!" Roland nodded repeatedly before thanking the man for the news and with one look at me, he grinned.

"Off we go, sister!" he cheered, and he sprinted forward like a mad man through the smoke, and blindly, I ran after him.

With one hand, I covered my mouth from the smog, and with the other, I held my sword steadfastly, ready to puncture human flesh at any moment. Unfortunately, the thought of piercing human skin and being responsible for the death of a man sent an unwanted shiver up my spine. _Hold fast, Astrid. These are evil men. They've come to destroy your home and everyone you love. Think of Mum and Dad and Adam…and oh yes, Roland._

That managed to get me thinking more clearly, and my mind was coming together to focus on my duty as a civilian of Port Royal. _Kill pirates… as long as they are not Jack._ I nodded my head in agreement with myself, but I was not composed enough to leave my thoughts at that. _But what if one is Jack and I don't see it and I kill him?_

"_Arrr!_" came a growl through the smoke. I saw a pirate running from a house with gold and jewels in his hands.

I braced myself.

"You!" I shouted, running up to him. "Drop the booty and surrender!"

"And who be you?" the pirate said in disgust, his pruned face struck with amazement. "Yer nottin' but a lad! I oughta kill ya now for challengin' me." He dropped the loot clamorously onto the ground and drew out a rusted cutlass.

For a very brief second, I regretted challenging him. My heart sank into my stomach like an anchor. Keeping one eye on his feet, I scurried forward and thrust my blade at his abdomen. He backed away, missing it by a hair and rushed at me with brute force, swashing his sword crazily. He pushed his blade forward, and I stepped to the side and on instinct, drove my sword straight between his ribs. While he gasped from the pain, I gulped at the reality that I just wounded and possibly killed a man.

"God, forgive me," I sighed, shaking my head as the man lost consciousness and fell to the ground, leaving his crimson mark on my blade.

Shaking inside, I ran off to ward away more of the intruders. It was a hectic situation, for it was hard to tell friend from foe when the men fighting each other looked just as dirty as their enemy. Stupidly, I stood for a moment wondering what to do. A sharp object scraped my side, and I turned swiftly around and saw a sword piercing my shirt. The tip had grazed my skin, but I pulled away in time before the pirate could have pushed his blade any deeper into my flesh.

While he was amused with the false thought of actually puncturing my flesh, I whacked his face with the side of my sword, leaving a long red line on his face. He growled, and with blood in his eye, muttered a few curses towards me before revealing his other weapon: a grappling hook already caked in blood.

_Christ!_

He swung his sword low, and I averted my eyes to my feet and swerved away from the cut, but he took the opportunity to use his grappling hook and trapped my neck with it.

"Got you now," he cackled. While he raised his sword near my throat, my mind raced with thoughts. _Astrid, you are going to die and you haven't found Jack yet! You barely left your home and now you are going to die! Stupid girl!_

A call rang out.

"Astrid!"

I ducked my head, freeing it from the hook, and kicked the pirate with all my might between the legs. With a moan, he fell to his knees and with the mind of a savage, I speared his abdomen.

"Dear God!"

I looked up, my sword still stuck in the dying man and saw the face of my Adam. He was grinning from shock, and casually, I kicked the lifeless body of the men aside, freeing my sword from yet another victim.

"Hullo, Adam!" I chimed. "Is your neighborhood all right?"

"Yes, very fine. Everyone's fighting in their nightclothes for God's sake, but it doesn't really matter at the moment, now does it?"

"No, I suppose not. Have you seen Roland?" He shook his head and I walked forward and grabbed his hand. "Come on, love. We're going to find him."

On the search to find little brother Roland, Adam and I encountered quite a few more pirate provokers and each one was dying for a fight, and so that was exactly what they did. They died. Adam, however, was not like Roland, and he did not shoot down every pirate before we were even ten feet from them. He even gave me the honor of taking the first hit at times, and if I became trapped in a tight spot, he got me out of it. It was difficult to do the same for him because he seemed to swat these pirates with ease and he never required additional help from anyone, least of all me. The boy was doing quite well on his own, but I guess that was because he had the experience.

Fighting alongside him also lifted some of the guilt I had developed from killing men. The majority of them left their mark on me, whether it was a scratch on the face or another hole in my shirt. One of them even managed to puncture my hat, the bastard, but most of them ended up dying at Adam's hand. He did not seem to care that he was ending life. His mind was too focused on his duty to consider the morality of his actions. Though, I couldn't say the same about myself. I was always very self-conscious of what I did, especially after my ill-fated incidents with Griffith and Stephen, and killing a man still made me feel like an awful murderer.

On one instance, Adam and I were fighting off a band of pirates. They outnumbered us greatly, but the young lieutenant believed that we could take them, and so I believed him and was now trapped in the arms of a blasted pirate, with a sword being raised to my throat.

I cried out to my love.

"Ad—"

The pirate's hand covered my mouth and it already stank badly of grime and other disgusting muck. I looked frantically at Adam who was being overwhelmed by the attacks. I feared for his life, but no amount of struggling, cursing or kicking would make the giant pirate let me go.

Adam let out a cry as he fell to the ground, his hands pressed against his side. A storm brewed in me and I only thrashed about more fiercely. I'd even bite the pirate's hand if that was what it took to free me. The pirates began closing in around Adam, snickering amongst themselves at his pain. From what I saw, his hands were now stained with his own blood and I grew all the more frantic.

"_Fire!_" came a shout. Blasts rang in the air, leaving behind trails of grey smoke. Some of the pirates fell to the ground moaning, including mine, and I pulled his damn arms away from me and stuck my sword in his gut just to make sure he was dead.

"Adam!" I yelled, rushing to his side and propping his head up with my hands. "Are you all right? Please tell me you are all right."

"I'm fine," he winced, pressing harder onto his wound. "I think I can walk."

"Astrid!"

I turned my head and found Roland walking towards us, his firing crew following him.

"It's about time you got here, God dammit!" I shrieked. "Adam's hurt—"

"Yes, I know. If it were not for me and my men, he and you would have both been killed, so I believe thanks are in order?" He grinned at me and I glared at him in return. Out of all times to come, he always managed to come at the opportune moment. "Take Lieutenant Locke to the Fort," he ordered his men. "A surgeon is there. I'm sure he will be able to treat the wound. Was it through bullet or blade?" he asked Adam, kneeling down and inspecting his friend's wound while I let Adam rest his head on my blood-stained lap.

"Blade," answered Adam, grimacing again.

"All right. I'm sure it will be treatable. Take him away." Two soldiers bent down on opposite sides around Adam and hauled him up. "And Adam," he added, patting his friend's shoulder reassuringly. "Do you know of any ship that may be leaving tomorrow morning?"

"Why?" croaked my love.

"Astrid and I must leave Port Royal. We cannot enlist here or our parents will be sure to find us. I need to find a ship that will take us to another British port that may have a ship fitting our needs. Do you know of one?" Adam thought for a moment, his eyes wandering and searching for answers that he visualized in his head.

"Yes," he said. "A small merchant ship is headed to St. Vincent. It is called the S.S. _Amelia_. Captained by John Wagnalls and managed by a crew of about thirty. It is not a big ship at all. If you intend on boarding a passage from it, then you should hide yourselves with the cargo. It leaves precisely at dawn, if I'm not mistaken, unless it is damaged by the fighting tonight." Roland nodded in thanks and sent Adam off with the soldiers. Feeling tears well up in my eyes but swallowing them down, I cried out to him one last time.

"Take good care of him!" I shouted at the soldiers as they marched away. "Or I'll see to it that you share his fate!"

"Aye!" they replied, and Roland gave my shoulder a good rub.

"Come, Sister. We have to find that ship."

"But… Jack," I stammered. "Whoever took his ship. I'm going to find him and kill him." Roland didn't heed my words and dragged me through the town, his eyes focused on keeping us away from any attack.

"Now is not the time for revenge. You could very well get killed yourself if we don't get out of here," he advised. With a huff, I pulled my arm out of his grasp and stomped my foot on the ground.

"I am not going to that ship until I see…"

Something caught my eye.

A large band of pirates was heading towards us, but most intriguing was a fellow in the middle of them all, donned in finer clothing and a hat brimmed with feathers. It was the dreaded captain of my ol' Jack's ship! I felt it in my bones.

"Roland! It's him!"

"Astrid, don't!" yelled Roland, but it was too late. Revenge was on my mind. I rushed forward, pounding my feet into the ground as I headed straight for the bastard.

Stopping just a few feet before the approaching band of pirates, I clutched the hilt of my blade and prepared to chuck it directly at the captain's face. Bracing my self, I took a step forward and was about to throw it when the captain turned to me and at his face, I realized it was not a he, but a _she_.

"What have we here, gentlemen?" she snickered, pointing a finger at my frozen self.

_Jack has left the Pearl to this whore?_ I thought.

"You look familiar," she said before snapping her fingers. At the sound, a few of her men trudged forward. "Kill them," she said. She took one last look at me, but her interest was suddenly caught by Roland who grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back.

"She's just a stupid girl," he said to the captain. "Half-mad, she is. Pay no attention to her."

"Roland!" I hissed. He only gripped harder on my shoulder.

"You are a wise young man," said the captain-whore. "What is your name?" She took a step forward, eyeing Roland with an inquisitive stare.

"Turner," he said simply, pulling me farther away from the advancing pirate crew.

"Let them go," said the captain, suddenly changing her mind. A few mutters of disagreement rumbled amongst her men but she silenced them with a bark. "Let them go, you idiots!"

And we were allowed to go.


	2. Useless Cargo

_Chapter Two: Useless Cargo_

**W**hen the sky began to lighten, Roland and I decided to look for our ship, and under cover of darkness and shreds of remaining fog, we snuck onto the S.S. _Amelia_.

The ship was uninhabited and the sails were pulled up, the deck swabbed and fairly clean. We wasted no time trying to explore the ship despite my urge to run around and wonder at it. Roland's authority as midshipman made me reluctantly obey him. We headed down below decks, and then down again to the hold of the ship.

As soon as my boot made a thud on the brittle wooden steps, I heard a few tiny feet scurry and a few mouths squeak.

"Rats," said Roland.

I stared blankly at him.

"They like ships. They like shoes, too, and hats."

My arms instantly covered my head. No bloody rat would make his home in my hat. He laughed and I scowled behind his back. The boy loved to make fun.

"I'll pick one up and drop it in that cylinder hat of yours, brother," I warned. He ignored me as usual and walked carefully amongst the crates, barrels and other trunks holding goods as he searched for a proper hiding place. I followed after him, not quite joining in on the search for a place to hide, but more on searching for any rats that might cross my path.

I bumped into a pile of boxes, and one fell raucously onto the wooden floor and broke into a mess of splinters.

"Shh!" whirred Roland, spinning his head angrily in my direction. "Do you want us to get caught?"

"No," I snorted, crossing my arms and leaving the accident where it lay. My eyes still did not leave the floor. They scanned fervently for any sign of a damn rat.

"Will you stop fretting over rodents and help me find a good hiding place?" he growled in return. Unwillingly, I stopped glaring at the floor and steered off in a different direction, poking my head in small, dark areas where Roland and I could be safe from being deported back to Port Royal if caught.

The cargo area was stuffed with wooden boxes branded with the names of their destinations. The majority had the black marks of 'Nevis,' 'Anguilla,' and 'St. Vincent,' painted onto their sides, and at the mentioning of St. Vincent, I asked Roland where St. Vincent or what St. Vincent was.

"It's a small British settlement further east," he said. "I failed to ask Adam if there would be a King's ship there, but the least we can do is hope. And if there is not one, then we can just get another passage on a different ship until we reach a port that has one."

_At this rate,_ I thought, _I will not see Jack until I am fifty years old._

After some more idle searching, I happened upon a shadowed nook behind a wall of crates. I called for Roland.

"I'll be there in a moment!" he said, trampling over barrels and boxes to get to me quicker. He had to lean his head to the side to avoid hitting his head on the wooden ceiling, and he seemed in great discomfort. "What have you found?" he said unexcitedly, creeping up behind me. "The origin of the rats?" I bit my lip and peered threateningly at him, ready to haul him up to the deck and shove him overboard to be rid of him and his pathetic jokes.

"No," I said, slapping his head. "A possible hiding spot." He shifted his eyes in my direction, looking inquisitively from me to the shadowed area. After some thought in that head of his, he crawled into the spot and gave it a good inspection.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"There are no rats," he replied, and that drove me away from where I stood and into the tiny space behind the crate-wall. "It's quite dark, especially with this barrier of crates blocking the light from the lanterns down here." I knelt to the floor and ran my hand over the surface to make sure it was clean. When I brought my hand back to my face, it was covered with filth. "I don't think they'll see us."

"No," I said, wiping my grime-covered hand on my trousers. "But I'm sure as soon as we get out we'll be dirtier than the pirates themselves."

"I shouldn't wear my uniform then," said Roland. "Don't want to get it dirty." I laughed and he grew aggravated with my mockery. "It's true. As soon as we _do_ find a British ship to sign on as sailors, I want to have my mid uniform clean."

"Maybe the lads on the _Paramount_ were right, Roland," I snickered. "Maybe you _are_ a fairy." It was only a light-hearted joke meant only to be shrugged off. He had been teasing me about rats since we came down and it was only fair to return the humiliation. He took on a defensive stance and pinched my face very hard.

"Say that again and I'm leaving you on your own on this ship." He whacked my head with his hat, knocking my own hat off and dropping it right onto a dead rat sitting on the floor.

After a few hours of waiting and mildly bickering, we began to hear footsteps and voices above us. With a jolt, the ship was finally off, and I was introduced to the unsteady fluctuation of a ship on the sea. My head began to hurt from the constant swaying of back and forth. I tried to sleep and close my eyes, but I felt sick. Horribly sick. My belly seemed inflated with food I had not eaten and it was trying very hard to come out of my mouth. Only, I didn't want to make a noise. I wasn't sure what was stronger: my body's involuntary desire to vomit, or my mind's determination to keep the plan going smoothly. Ultimately, my body won over my mind, and I had to creep stealthily away from the hiding spot and to the other side of the floor to finally spew my stomach's filling. The boat was still swaying like a pendulum and I was seasick again before I returned to the hiding spot. Roland seemed unaffected with the instability of the moving sea, and sat comfortably in our hiding place, whistling a sea chanty to himself to cover the sounds of my retching from ever reaching his ears.

With a pallid face and throbbing head, I trudged back over to the spot and plunked myself beside Roland very wearily. I was in no mood for conversation, but brother dear chose to indulge me with his knowledge of seamanship.

"First time I was on a ship," he began, "seasickness was gone in a couple of hours. Then again, you're not me. Maybe your body can't tolerate the inconsistency of the sea as well as others can."

I didn't say anything.

"By the way," he said, looking at his hat and not at me. "I heard the sailors talking. We'll be in St. Vincent in about two to three days, they said." I moaned and banged the back of my head against the wall we sat against.

"Splendid," I groaned. "I will be dead from seasickness before we reach St. Vincent. How nice."

"Oh, stop being so pessimistic," said Roland, taking a chunk of bread from his sea bag and stuffing it in his mouth. "You'll get through. I promise." He smiled encouragingly, but I only managed a weak smirk. How I wanted to be back on land, but that would be hypocritical of me. I longed to be on the sea, and I was there, suffering under seasickness. The least I could have done was make the best of a rather unfortunate event.

"Roland," I said.

"Yes?" he replied, speaking while he chewed his food.

"I think I'll find a rat and name it after you."

After three more days, or at least three according to the words of the sailors whom we eavesdropped on, the word was spread that the ship would be docking in St. Vincent in less than an hour or so.

Within a matter of minutes, the usually slow and lazy steps of the sailors were hastened at the mentioning of land, and to our misfortune, a great number of those pounding feet were finding their way down to the cargo area.

By the time we began to hear voices and catch glimpses of the sailors coming down below, Roland and I were prepared to leap out and escape at any moment. Our sea bags were slung over our shoulders, hats were on our heads, boots on and cleaned, and swords at home in our scabbards.

"Drop that down, ya idiot!" said one sailor. "Cap'n said t' get the boxes marked 'St. Vincent' first. So drop dem barrels and get to haulin' the useless cargo up to the main deck!" With a mutter, the other sailor dropped his barrel tersely on the floor and stomped off to complete his orders correctly. Roland and I must have been cursed with hard luck, for out of all places to look for boxes, the idiot sailor chose to come dangerously close to our hiding spot.

"Damn weasel," scowled the sailor as he disputed in his head which box to lift first from the wall of crates that concealed Roland and me. "Since when wa' he made my boss?" he muttered, choosing to lift one from the top that did not reveal our hiding spot. When he turned to leave, Roland and I breathed a little easier.

"We have to get out soon," said Roland, inching to his feet. "Soon all these crates'll be gone and we'll be caught. Hurry, Astrid. C'mon." He helped pull me up to my feet, only to push me down again when a sailor barged down the steps barking insult after insult.

"_Now,_ he says I can take the damn barrels. The bastard. I'll get 'im one day. By God, I'll get 'im." His voice was very dull and nasally, but his ardor to do his sailor companion in was making me question whether or not the man had a criminally insane history.

The poor sailor did not even carry one barrel up the steps when his master changed the order.

"Drop that load and get up on deck. Captain's givin' us a short break to stretch our legs on lan' and you're here pickin' up barrels. What a clot!" Again, I heard the very boisterous slam of a barrel on the ground and heavy, angry steps trample the stairs.

"Now, Roland?" I asked, about to pounce up and run off the ship.

"No. Give them a few minutes. I bet most will go out to land, but you can never be too sure. Keep quiet."

"Aye, sir," I replied, trying my best to imitate a salute, but my attempt only made Roland laugh.

"Dear God, I don't know what you'd do if I did not go with you, sister."

_Dear God, neither would I._

We waited for a few more minutes before Roland finally decided it was safe to emerge from the dim of the levels below and get ourselves under the sun on deck.

As soon as we popped our heads from below, we caught a glimpse of a man at the wheel of the ship. Immediately, we dipped our heads back down to avoid being seen.

"What do we do?" I asked, taking a small peep again to see if the man was still there. He was. I could still see his feet.

"I'll sneak out quietly, and well, since I've dressed back into my middy uniform, the man may listen to me. I'll pretend I've come with orders from some royal cove and while I'm speaking with him, you get out and make a run for the first British ship you see. I'll follow."

I nodded. "Go on. Leave your sea bag with me." He transferred his sack to my right shoulder and very silently, snuck out to the deck. I waited a while before popping out.

"Excuse me, sir," said Roland. "I come with orders from my captain. He's just asking if you have unloaded this cargo from Port Royal yet."

"No, sir," said the man. "Captain's out in the town. Won't be back for probably another hour." I heard Roland pause and then suddenly cough very loudly, "Go."

"Are you all right, sir?" asked the sailor. Roland continued to hack, wheeze and choke, creating a distracting cacophony. Hoping the sailor's eyes would not be too keen as to notice all that moved, I slipped out onto deck and crept for the gang plank like a roach.

Still walking down the wooden board, I heard Roland's coughs cease, and he thanked the sailor briefly before excusing himself.

_Well done, Turner._

He met me at the dock the ship was tied up in with a smile on his face. Wiping his brow with the sleeve of his fine midshipman's uniform, he spoke at last.

"Let's find ourselves a ship of Britannia, sister." And off we went, so pleased with our achievements that we whistled a sea tune.


	3. The HMS Resolve

_Chapter Three: The H.M.S _Resolve

**S**potting a ship of the Crown was as simple as finding one's nose on one's face. As soon as Roland and I began to wander the docks, looking for a fitting ship, a voice called out to him from a grand and absolutely humongous British warship.

"You there!" it said. "Up the gangplank and onto the deck immediately! Leave behind your friend!" Roland used his long hand as a visor as he stared up at the young man who had hailed him. Turning around, he looked down at me with an uncertain face.

"Go ahead," I answered simply, and he tipped his hat off to me before running up the gangplank to the young officer who had summoned him.

With Roland gone, I used my time to take a closer look at the ship. It seemed in very good shape and fairly young, but it was positively colossal. It's bark was newly painted and varnished and the sails were tied neatly by the hands of disciplined seamen. The immeasurable number of ropes and lines amidst the sails swayed gently in the wind. Just looking at the proud ship gave me the urge to commandeer it, but that would be highly unreasonable and also illegal. I was unable to read its majestic name, so instead, I stopped a sailor passing by and asked him.

"The H.M.S_ Resolve_, laddie," he replied. The man headed directly to an aged, skinny cove who stood by a wooden podium.

"Mister Jenson!" came a shout from the ship. I turned to search for the lad with the big mouth, but there were too many leaning over the edge of the _Resolve_ to distinguish among them. Mister Jenson turned his grey head and squinted up at the boy who had issued the call.

"Yes, sir?" said the man in a hoarse, shaky cry.

"Sign Roland William Turner onto the _Resolve_," yelled the young man. "And under rank, state that he is an officer, a midshipman!" Mister Jenson nodded and recorded the information in a thick book before finally addressing the needs of the sailor who had also come to him to sign up on that ship.

_Wait a minute, _I thought. _Roland has signed on without me? What madness is this?_

Clutching my sea bag all the tighter, I marched up the dock and stopped right before the gangplank, staring at the pathway with squinted and annoyed eyes. Dropping my bag onto the ground, I cupped my hands around my mouth and gave one hell of a shout.

"Excuse me, sir!" I yelled, addressing the young man who had shouted across to Mister Jenson. "May I have a word with Mister Turner!"

It was not the young man who had replied to me. Instead, Roland's silly head appeared and he looked at me, a grin on his face.

"If you are new to the system, come up the gangplank and gather with the bosun! He shall give any young lad out there looking to join the British Navy a good assignment as ship's boy!"

Without wasting another second, I trudged up the wooden board and stepped foot onto the freshly swabbed deck of the H.M.S_ Resolve_.

_Now,_ I thought. _Who and what the hell is the bosun?_

Surrounded by so many uniformed men, I must have lost track of where Roland was in the midst of it all, although I did not even know if he was on deck at the time when I arrived. My eyes were unaccustomed to what appeared to be a disorganized and rowdy array of moving lads, both young and old, and it was my clueless and childish stature that allowed for the bosun to find me before I found him.

"You!" he shouted roughly, sucking out his phlegm and spitting it out into the bay water. "Boy! Get over here!" He pointed a fat finger at me and I left my place. With my wandering eyes still gazing at the things around me, I headed over to the intimidating man.

His face was clear of any beard, but a most eye-catching scar across his nose and right cheek was the first thing I spotted when I confronted him. His dark eyes narrowed suspiciously on my own and he scrunched up his blunt nose.

"Eh, go sit with other shabby lads," he ordered, spitting again. Without question, I walked away from him, but not without sending him an awkward glance. Sadly, that quick glance made me run into some unfortunate young man.

"Excuse me, sir," I said warily.

"Lads looking to be ship's boys are over there, if you are looking for them," replied the mid I had run into. I looked up. "At the quarterdeck," he added. _What the hell is a quarterdeck?_ I wanted to ask him, but I only saluted inelegantly and followed the path his finger pointed.

"Look what Mista Sumner brought in!" said a lad sitting on the floor and smoking a pipe as I reached the quarterdeck. I raised my eyebrows in bewilderment and stared back at the red-haired boy who could not have been much older than twelve.

"Another landlubber," said another, and it came from the mouth of a boy who looked a little older, but with black hair that was matted to his forehead in definite sweat and grease.

"What's yer name?" asked a third, who happened to be sitting directly behind me. His voice was a little deeper, and when I turned around to face him, I was even more shocked to find who said it. It was Andre! Roland's mate from the _Valiant_! He had grown a bit, but still seemed too much a child to be taken seriously as a man.

My mouth opened to answer his question, ready to say 'Astrid,' but I remembered that he did not see me as a woman. What the lads saw was a lad like themselves. _Quickly, Astrid. Pick a name. Preferably a boy's name._

"J-Jack," I replied, lowering my voice a little. I was sure it sounded utterly false, but all the boys bought it somehow.

"Gotta last name to that?" said the red-haired boy. "Jack-_ass_ perhaps?" He and dark-haired boy laughed heartily and I wanted to slap their round little faces so badly.

"Shut up, you two," said Andre, running a hand through his dark blond hair. "Mister Sumner's comin'... with more bastards like you." The boys stopped laughing, and remained quiet as the stout, short bosun made his way towards us, accompanied by three more boys.

"All right. I gots me orders from the cap'n," he said. "And I'm t'pick four ship's boys for the journey."

"Ya already got fo' boys, Mista Sumner," said the red-haired cad.

"Ya can't count at all, can ya, Willard?" said Mister Sumner. "Three more lads has come to me. An' outta you seven, I'm a gonna have to choose four. Now get in line, all o' you!" The boys hurried to their feet, and with a slight panic about the air, they formed a line, and I followed their lead, feeling very stupid in their company. I joined the end of the line because none of the boys would make a gap for me to stand in. To my luck, Bosun Sumner peered at me first.

"What's yer name?" he asked, his face very close to mine. I could feel his stinky breath on my nose.

"J-Jack, s-sir," I quavered. Quickly, I sought for a surname to accompany it. _Think, Astrid. Come on…_ "J-Jack… um... B-barlow," I finished, my hands still shaking. The bosun didn't even budge or leave his glare on me.

"How old are ya?" My mind told me to be honest and say, 'Fifteen, sir,' but they would never let a fifteen year old be a damned ship's boy. He'd be too old.

"Th-thirteen, sir." I looked down.

"Thirteen? Ya look barely ten by the face." He paused and I waited for more questions with a weakness in my gut.

"Any skills? Experience?" I stood blank at the question. I did not know any skills that might be helpful and I had no experience whatsoever.

"No, sir..." I said. The other boys snorted with laughter.

"Well, what _can_ ye do? Eh?" asked Sumner, mocking me. "Can ye read, write? God forbid, _breathe?_"

"I can read and write, sir," I said, hoping to stick up for myself but it came out weak. I cast my stare to the ground, for a few murmurs hovered amongst the boys.

"Read an' write, eh?" echoed Mister Sumner. He turned his face up to the sky. Very gradually, he began to nod. "All right, all right. Welcome aboard the H.M.S_ Resolve_, boy" he said. I looked up, amazed. "Whatcha gawpin' for?" he yelled. "Sign yerself in!"

Gathering my stuff quickly, I followed Bosun Sumner's directions to sign in with the old man at the podium and then find myself a hammock and sea chest. Astrid was gone, at least, for the moment she was. And she was replaced by a most impious lad named Jack.

"Name, please," stated the old man at the table when I returned to him, my sea bag swung over my shoulder.

"Jack Barlow," I replied proudly.

"Ship's boy, I presume?" he asked, not looking up from the logbook as he dipped a quill in ink and scratched my name onto the paper.

"Yes, sir." He looked up from his writing hand and eyed me suspiciously.

With a brief pause, he set down his quill and folded his hands neatly on the table surface before looking at me directly. "Welcome aboard His Majesty's Ship, the _Resolve_. She is a fourth-rate ship and man-of-war, holding a total of sixty guns and capable of holding a crew of four hundred men. As of now, you are bound to the rules and regulations of His Majesty's Royal Navy, having boarded this ship at your own peril. Shall you violate any of these laws or the Articles of War, you will be tried and convicted or acquitted of any charges by her captain, Captain Richard Carlisle. God save the Ship, God save the Captain, God save the King, and may God save your soul."

I gulped at his rather unwelcoming welcome to me. And while he never lifted his harsh, punishing glare at me, I hurriedly nodded and saluted at him before rushing up the gangplank to what was to be my new home for months.

It was easier to find my way below deck. There was a hatchway near the mainmast that led to the decks below, and after watching a couple of the men go down there, just to make sure it was the right place, I followed soon after, feeling very content with myself. Life below deck, however, was much different from above. For one, it smelled worse, and the ship wasn't even out of port yet. The smell of sweat, dirt, and other things I would not imagine hung thickly in the warm air, and as soon as I went down, I regretted doing so.

I did not happen to be the only inexperienced lad walking about wondering what to do, and a good deal of men were approaching a young man, most likely a midshipman, to ask for assistance. Flowing the way the wind blew, I decided to ask the young gentleman for help as well. When the midshipman had finished speaking with one of the sailors, of whom he handed to a hammock, he noticed me and I realized it was the same young man I had run into on deck.

"Back again, I see," he said.

"Yes, sir," I returned, fumbling with my words under his eyes. "I-I need a hammock and a sea-chest... whatever that is, and I was hoping-"

"Position on the ship?" he interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at me. I could feel his stare on my slightly bent head, but I did not look him directly in the eye. After my confrontation with the bosun, I found that a very difficult thing to do.

"Ship's boy, sir," I said.

"Ah, another novice. A hammock you said you needed?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard what I told him earlier.

"Aye, sir." He paused and sucked in a breath before speaking again.

"I ask that you do not take this personally, but we usually have ship's boys share a hammock. Two to one. It is not that we are trying to deprive you of what every man should receive under supervision of the British Navy. Our supplies are scarce and we must make the best of them. You will have to wait until all ship's boys are accounted for before I surrender a hammock into your possession."

I had lost my interest in his rather long explanation about hammocks some while ago and I was waiting patiently for him to finally conclude.

"Currently, not all seamen have been congregated and I ask that you wait." To shorten his prolonged discussion, I took it simply that I could not get a hammock at the moment, which very well could have been what he said. The young man had to explain everything to me as if I was a child. If only I could have told him explaining things to me would be like teaching a rock how to speak.

"All right, sir," I said happily. "But where am I supposed to put me luggage?"

"Oh, yes. Your sea chest. I must have forgotten." _Much too obviously, good sir._ "Mister Lester!" he called. "Show this young man to his sea chest please!" _Lester. Why did it sound familiar?_

"Aye, Mister Bennett," was the yell returned, and coming up from behind me, a young lad with white blonde hair and dark eyes came forward. Then I remembered where I had seen him before. It was good old Dobbin!

"Show him where to get his trunk," said midshipman. Dobbin bobbed his head and gave a salute before leading me away from Midshipman Bennett and to what appeared to be the cargo area of the ship. There, a man with a hammer in his hands was nailing some sort of box together. After driving one more iron nail into the side of the box, he picked it up and tossed it over to a larger pile of identical trunks.

"Mister Ashman," said Dobbin, "a sea chest for this young man here."

"Aye, sir," said Mister Ashman. It was vividly clear that Mister Ashman was the carpenter of the ship. His thick arms were covered in wiry black hairs and his round face was covered in bushy black curls that were crusted with some unknown grunge. His steps were slow, as if he were too tired to lift his feet and therefore dragged them. He waddled over to his pile of wooden chests, picked one up as if he were picking up a feather and handed it to Midshipman Robert Lester.

"Thank you, Mister Ashman," said Dobbin, nodding and taking the chest in his arms. I managed a salute to Mister Ashman, and then took my exit with Roland's past ship mate.

When we returned to Midshipman Bennett, he informed me that there was still no sure account of the men yet and therefore could not give me a hammock. Thankfully, he said it in much less words than before.

"Thank you Mister Lester, and thank you Mister Bennett for assisting me," I said, as confidently as my tongue would let me. I honored them each with a clumsy salute and then went off to wander about the ship. Perhaps I'd get acquainted with the captain and lieutenants, if I could find them.

"You there!" I moaned inside at the call. How many times had I heard that already in one day?

"I think he's talkin' to _you_," whispered a sailor.

To my surprise, it was Roland who had called me, and I was glad to see that he had not forgotten that I existed. "Yes, sir?" I said, bringing my left hand to my brow to pay respect.

"It's good to see that you're holding your own without my help, but…" His voice was hushed in seriousness and his hazel eyes looked grey again. "There's someone on this ship whom I fear will remember you, despite your disguise."

"Who, sir?" I asked, finding it a strange occurrence. Who on earth could be on this ship that would remember me in a shameful point of view? Suddenly, it hit me like a stone to my head. "Do not tell me Griffith is a middy on this ship," I growled softly.

"Unfortunately, he is." My heart sank in my chest like a cannonball would in water, and blood was drained from my face. The words were such a flight of bad luck that I thought I even heard Griffith's sinister laughter echoing distantly, steadily increasing in volume.

"Try to keep him away from me, please," I said, making sure to keep my voice low. "How many midshipmen are on the ship anyway?"

"There are a few other middies, but they are older, though with not more experience. They won't be much of a problem, I don't think."

"What if Griffith reveals—" Roland cut me off with a sudden and false cough. I wondered why, but then he tilted his side ever so slightly to the left. I shifted my glance in the direction and caught a horrific glimpse of Victor Griffith parading down the floors as if he were king himself. "He'll see me, and he'll see you and then we are done for."

"I've already spoken with him, sadly, and he was most surprised to find me here, as I was with him. I then learned that his engagement with Alexandra was broken and that his father wanted him sent back to England. Apparently, Griffith thought otherwise and traveled to St. Vincent not too long ago."

"Damn," I muttered. "Maybe signing up here was not a very thoughtful decision."

"Nonsense. He is too proud to reveal your secret to the captain. It'll make him feel special that he knows something nobody else does, but that is, of course, if he discovers… well, you know." I bobbed my head in weak, but honest agreement and turned around to get back to my sea chest, only to be halted by the one person I never wanted to see again.

"You there!" _Dammit, enough with the God damn 'You there's'!_ "What's your name?"

"Jack Barlow, sir," I said in a deep voice, but not too deep to be taken as a fraud. "Ship's boy."

"I see," he said, more to himself than to me. His hand began to rub his chin as he inspected me with his ever-watchful blue eyes. "You look strangely familiar, Jack," he laughed, but stated it only as a joke to my own relief. "But, I have never met a Barlow before. I hope you will uphold your duty as a ship's boy and follow your orders swiftly and obediently. Good day."

He walked past me and I let out a breath of hot air.

After what seemed about a half hour, Midshipman Bennett finally gave me a hammock, only to tell me I'd have to share with one of the ship's boys. I groaned inside but realized that having a hammock to sleep in was better than having nothing at all.

What made my day even better was that the other three ship's boys were the rude and annoying red-haired Willard, and his dark-haired friend, Daniel, who were respectfully addressed as only Will and Dan. And the last ship's boy was Andre. Something that worked even _better_, if one looked at it through my eyes of sarcasm, was that Will and Dan immediately shared their hammock, which meant I'd be left to share with Andre. _Damn._It was not that I disliked Andre. He seemed a nice enough lad, but I feared he'd discover I was a woman if we shared a hammock. Of course, we'd be on opposite ends of it, but still, I was still shamefully awkward of sleeping with a man.

"If the hammock breaks because we are too big to share one, well, I guess we'll just have to tell Mister Bennett about that, aye?" I said, hoping to lighten the air up, but Andre seemed strangely depressed. I took it that he was not in a sociable mood and left him where he stood.

I climbed up the ladder to the main deck, and with all sailors accounted for, the sails and lines were being pulled, tied and positioned into place for departure. Standing at the helm was a man and two lieutenants, if I was not mistaken, and the man, dressed finely in a bicorn hat and a pressed naval suit, could not have been anyone but the captain. From where I stood, I could not make much of his face, but I bravely walked forward to be closer to the helm.

Walking under the mainmast, I tilted my head as far back as I could and gazed up the wooden spike with sails. Men balanced themselves on the lines with ease. Their hands worked steadily to free the sails, and soon, white squares and triangles were unleashed from wooden beams and tied into place. Strangely, I found myself smiling, and with my hand as a visor over my brow, I continued to watch the men work.

"You there!" came a call. I jerked inwardly at the order. How many bloody times was that going to be said? I turned my head away from the sky and locked my eyes on the helm where the captain was looking at me.

"Aye, sir?" I replied, leaving my spot and running to the wheel where the man stood. Upon meeting me, he and his men had their hands folded neatly behind their straight backs and faced me, looking at me straight in the eye.

"Name?" he inquired.

"Jack Barlow, sir," I quavered. The man was indeed quite intimidating.

"Your position on this ship, Barlow?" asked the captain.

"Ship's boy, sir," I replied.

The captain was a man of middle age. His skin was not exactly wrinkled, but it was not entirely smooth either. When in thought, his forehead furrowed, and fine lines were etched about his long nose, but as soon as he released the frown of thought, he looked fairly decent. His face was very lightly tanned, and I assumed that he had only been out to sea for a few months. He was cleanly shaven and had brown hair neatly tied back underneath his hat. I was glad to see that he did not wear a powdered wig as one of his lieutenants did. With a nod and a smile, he looked at me with eyes as green as the sea and I smiled in return.

"Carry on then," he said, his face expressionless. I supposed that my smile was a stupid thing to do, and I saluted hurriedly before tromping off.

I stayed on deck until the call was issued that the ship was ready to sail. The captain gave orders to his lieutenants who shouted out the majority of the directions, and men hustled about madly to get things done and ready. Stuck in the middle of it all, I was merely considered a lifeless thing in one's path and would constantly be shoved aside or pushed when I stood in a sailor's way. They did it not out of nastiness, I hoped, but more out of the fact that I was ignorant to the whole situation and needed a signal to get myself down below. The problem was, however, that I didn't want to go down below and miss seeing this ship off. I found freedom from the sailors' shouts of, 'Move!' and 'Get the bloody hell outta my way!' at the bow of the ship. I leaned over the railing and took in big gulps of the wet, salty sea air. Contentment finally seized me whole and I smiled, trying very hard not to laugh behind my curling lips.

At last, _at last._ The sea was now my domain.


	4. Out to Sea

_Chapter Four: Out to Sea_

**T**he first thing I did when I got down below again was check to see if Andre's mood had lightened. It hadn't. His behavior was troubling me and I also added on my list of things to do to tell Roland about it, if I could even find him.

Will and Dan were lounging about with the sailors, laughing and joking like little boys. I had no intention of getting to know them, the miniature cads. Will even had the nerve to ask me if I'd take a whiff from his pipe. I declined it as nicely as my mouth would let me and walked off to find Roland.

I entered the batteries, or the where the guns were kept, and found many a man sitting down alongside narrow tables wedged between guns. I passed by each group of men, looking for Roland's face, and at last, I spotted his company of mids and hastened my steps. I saluted at them and I heard Griffith snicker. If only he knew who was right before him, perhaps he'd choke instead of laugh.

"A word with you, Mister Turner," I said. "There's a problem I'd like to address."

Before Roland could even say something, Griffith leaned forward over the table and looked curiously at me. "If there is a problem on board the ship, then I believe you should address it to me, considering that Mister Turner is not even the closest one being promoted to lieutenant," he said, smirking his abhorrent grin.

"Very well then, sir," I said, suppressing a growl . "One of the ship's boys, Andre Newton, seems unwell. He's awfully quiet, sirs. I believe some of you know him, which is why I came to you to question his sudden depression." Griffith leaned back on his bench and his face contracted in disbelief. Sadly, he seemed to be the leader of the middies. Dobbin and Roland exchanged glances and immediately got up. I took it that they did not know Andre was on the ship and were as surprised as I was to find him there.

"Lead us to him, Barlow," said Dobbin. I expected Roland to cock an eyebrow at me for my alias, but he wisely chose not to show any form of friendly gestures that would reveal a past relationship with me.

I turned on my heel and proceeded to lead them to Andre. From behind, I heard Griffith mutter something and he reluctantly followed after us, along with Midshipman Bennett.

"Andre," said Dobbin. "Why di'ntcha tell us that you were on this ship?" Wearily, Andre looked up and scratched his head, his short nose twitching as if he was about to sneeze.

"Di'nt know you was on it, but it's good to see a familiar face," said Andre, his cheerless face finding some merriment. "How'd ya know I was here?"

"That'd be because of me," I added, grinning. "I knew these fellows knew you so I thought it might lighten your gloomy spirit to see them." Andre looked directly at me for the first time, his face a bit confused.

"Why the long face?" asked Roland, taking off his hat and sitting himself on a nearby sea chest. "What happened? I thought you were back in England with Dobbin. And then I find both of you here on the _Resolve_."

"I got some bad news just a couple days ago. A ship from England came here, which was where I got off. For a few days I stayed in St. Vincent, then I heard the _Resolve_ was comin', so I decided on signing up, considerin' that was all I could really do." He paused and on a separate tangent added. "I'm thirsty. Ya got anythin' to drink?"

"Jack," said Dobbin. "Get 'im a tankard of grog from the galley."

I nodded and went off, though I really wanted to hear Andre's story.

After retrieving a tankard of something called 'grog,' from the cook, who was coincidentally called Mister Cooke, I hurried back to Andre, Roland and Dobbin, just in time to hear a shocking bit of news.

"Tim's dead," said Andre, and the tankard nearly dropped from my hands, but I managed to hand it to him rather shakily.

"What? How?" asked Roland, gaping. Andre took in a breath and then drank down some of the grog. "I know he left Port Royal about three months ago, but… _dead_?"

"Aye. Survivors from his ship came here not too long ago for repairs. I knew Tim was assigned on that ship, so I asked where he was. A sailor told me he was killed."

I stood awed that Andre could describe his friend's death in such simplicity. Poor little Timmy was _dead_? The young man I had spoken to so threateningly on the _Valiant_ was now forever gone from the world, and I had never really had the chance to get to know him. My joy of being out to sea was dampened greatly with the news of Tim's death.

"Damn," sighed Dobbin, taking off his hat and throwing it to the ground with a breath of pure anger and regret. "This is why I hate this God damn sea," he murmured irately. "Always takin' lives…" His voice trailed off and he stalked away from us, too overcome with the heartbreaking report that his mate had died.

Roland did not portray his certainly bruised emotions as plainly as Dobbin, but his pained and taut face was enough to convince me that he was deeply troubled with the thought. Holding rather nobly to his deteriorating courage and peace of mind, he thanked Andre for informing them of the incident and walked away. It was all too clear why Andre was silent and aloof since he arrived on the ship. I believed a ship would have reminded him all to well the good times he had shared with his good mate, Timothy Monroe: fine lad and dutiful midshipman.

Andre turned back away from us and guzzled down his grog. I though, on the other hand, would not idle about, despite the upsetting bit of news, and my mind had planned on going back to the galley and getting something to eat, but a hand had grabbed my shoulder and patted it rather insensitively.

"I'm surprised you knew that Mister Turner and Mister Lester were mates with Andre," he said. I tensed at Griffith's masked cruelty, but did not jerk his arm off, as I would have normally done. Life on a ship would certainly push my patience to its limit. "How _did_ you know that? For certainly you have never been to Port Royal where Roland lives? There are no Barlows in Port Royal."

"Andre told me, sir," I said, in a very hushed tone so as not to catch Andre's attention and have him prove me wrong before the vile Victor Griffith. "I asked him what was wrong and he said to retrieve Mister Turner and Mister Lester."

"Of course," said Griffith in reply, highly doubting what I said. The boy was too good at noticing lies, for he probably lied more than any other man on earth. "Well, I do feel a bit aggrieved for poor Andre, but that is war. Certain sacrifices must be made in order to tip things in one side's favor." He gave a false sigh of distress and finally took his hand off my shoulder, and on a more dangerous note, he threatened something into my ear. "Do not think I am a simpleton, Jack," he hissed. "I have my allies everywhere. Watch your back." He turned hotly around, calling for Mister Bennett to join him wherever he was going, and it was a good thing he had his back turned, for I sent a very rude gesture to his lying, deceitful back.

When I turned around to go my separate way, I saw Andre staring at me, not surprised, not angry, but amused. "You know them, don't you? All three of them. Turner, Lester, and Griffith, right?"

I paused, thinking over what I should do, but instead, I cast my eyes away from him.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about, lad," I said, trying to laugh as if the question was preposterous, but Andre would not fall for my act.

"Sure I do," he answered. "I never told ya to get Turner and Lester, Jack. You must have known we was mates. How, well, that's what I want to know." Quickly, I decided to answer the question with as good a lie as Astrid would be able to do, and Astrid happened to be a very good liar. Scratching my head, I finally spoke.

"I ran into Turner when I came into St. Vincent," I said, looking at him to prove the authenticity of my confession, though it was entirely false. "When I told him I was lookin' for a place as ship's boy on a vessel of the Crown, he told me he was a middy and could help me. On the way, my mentioning of wanting to be a ship's boy somehow made him talk about his own memories on a ship and he respectfully included you and Mister Lester in the tale." Andre seemed to reluctantly believe the lie and nodded slowly and unsurely. But, he finally grinned at me, although weak, and folded his arms behind his head.

"Sorry I was such a remote cove," he said, looking at the ceiling. "Tim was my best mate, as Dobbin is kinda' Roland's. But… there's always a beginning and end for everythin'." He switched his vision back to me and I smirked sheepishly. I thought he was talking more to himself than me. Bravely, and with squinted eyes, he asked, "Where ya from, Jack?"

"Well," I began, looking at the floor for answers that I would never receive. _How wonderful, Astrid. Another big lie you have to make up. But… it will keep you safe, and that's important, right?_ "Well," I repeated, sitting myself on a crate nearby and biting my bottom lip. "I'm not from England, at least, I wasn't born there, and… well, my life has been pretty rough since me mum died and me dad got lost at sea. Got taken in by a really kind orphanage in a city I don't remember now, which I'll explain later, and when I got too big to stay at the orphan's home, I went out to find meself my own place in the gigantic world…"

_That's it, Astrid. Keep talking nonsense and of course, Andre will believe you. _I was in disagreement with myself as I spit lie after lie in a story that was already more adventurous than I believed mine would ever be. I was sure Andre would not accept a word I said, but he stood and listened attentively, nodding and even laughing at some parts of my story. _Well, if it gets Andre back to his old self, well, maybe the story of Jack Barlow would do him good._

I blessed Andre for being just as gullible as I was and for believing my story as fact. Poor boy. He most likely would have been enraged to find out that a stupid girl had deceived him. With my story done, and Andre off to a better mood, I went back up to the deck and found Roland on the starboard side, standing all prim and handsome like our dear dad.

"Mister Turner," I said, creeping up behind him and snatching his silly top hat. He whirred about and narrowly missed regaining his hat from my clutch.

"Jack," he said, remembering to keep a civilized state and refraining from erupting at me in the company of the other men. "What brings you by?"

"Just thought I'd ask you a couple questions, sir," I replied, taking off my worn tricorn and replacing it with Roland's stiff black cylinder hat.

"Ask away then. Might as well pass the time with your ceaseless babble." _You are most kind, sir_, I thought sarcastically.

"Who are those men?" I asked, my eyes catching the rather bright red uniforms of a group of men, young and old, gathering along the waist.

"The Marines," said Roland dully. "They are more of the battlefront type of men. Not necessarily sailors. They know some nautical knowledge, but their skills reside mostly in sharpshooting." I nodded, not quite understanding him but doing it out of routine. I watched the Marines with narrowed eyes and found that many of them were quite young, not to mention good-looking, but I abandoned my girlish thoughts for a moment.

"Why aren't you down below like Dobbin?" I questioned, returning back to matters about the sea and order around a vessel of the King.

"I'm on watch, Jack. The Forenoon watch. As time progresses though, the Idlers and Larboard will be on watch while Starboard is doing drills. At least, that is typically what happens. On a day such as this where we have quite a few newcomers, well, things will be a little more at ease."

"What's a watch? What are you watching for?"

"Enemy sightings, other ships, weather. There are many things we must keep an eye on. The ship is constantly monitored. Never are all three watches down. You Idlers though, get the most sleep."

"What do you mean by Idler?" I asked stupidly, my head too dense to absorb any maritime information very easily.

"You are mostly idle. Same goes for those on the ship with other low professions, like the cook and other ship's boys. Not much work can be given to you because you don't know enough."

"Thank you for telling us we are but a waste of labor."

"I didn't mean it like that," he grumbled, agitated with me. "You love the sea so much and yet hear I am trying to explain it to you and you can't get one thing into your head."

"Will you help me then?" I turned to him, my gaze now serious and Roland gave a slight and uncertain tilt of his head.

"I'll see what I can do. You are very difficult to teach though."

"Why?"

"Because you ask too many questions."

It was early evening when a bell was rung from the galley calling all sailors, not officers, down to the galley to eat supper. I followed Andre down there and we were both given a heaping pile of some thick, steaming brown stew that looked to be made of taters, carrots, and some unknown meat. Andre did not look questioningly at the meal and eagerly stuffed it down.

Taking a very sly sniff of the stuff so as not too appear too green, I found that it smelled good enough and took a spoonful to my mouth. It tasted horribly salty and I was not sure if it was spicy or just very hot in temperature. Nonetheless, it did not taste as good as it smelled, and I had the nerve to ask Andre what the mystery meat was.

"Don't know," he answered, not looking up from his square, wooden dish. "Maybe beef, maybe pork, most likely horse," he added, and I put a hand to my stomach to keep what I had just eaten down there.

"Horse?" I echoed.

"Aye," he replied, as if the words were common to him. "And this is actually a _good_ meal," he said. "By the time we've been out to sea for more than four weeks, well, we'll be eatin' a dinner of hardtack and grog." He licked his stew covered lips and began to get up. "Speakin' of hardtack, I think I'll get me a couple." I was already very lost by the time he left to get his said 'hardtack.' _What the hell is hardtack? And Roland failed to inform me that I'd have to eat HORSE._

"Excuse me," said a voice. I turned my head to the side and out of the corner of my eye saw Midshipman Bennett leaning down beside me. "Captain Carlisle requires you to serve me when I dine with him tonight."_What?_ I raised my eyebrows, only more confused over the simple matter of meals. Bennett must have noticed, for his blue eyes looked away from mine as he tried to explain things further to me. "Each night, a midshipman is selected to dine with the captain, just so that all officers are represented at the table. I was chosen tonight and I need you to serve me, which means you'll basically stand behind my chair silent and still unless I have a specific order for you to get something for me." My wrinkled eyebrows straightened as I began to piece his explanation slowly in my head.

"You want _me_ to stand behind your chair, still and silent, for the whole time you dine with the captain? What am I supposed to do if you have no orders for me?" Bennett laughed and looked away from me again, perhaps too embarrassed to be talking with an idiot like me.

"You don't _do_ anything. You stand and wait until the meal is done. Then afterwards, you can do whatever you want until lights are out."

"That is absolutely ridiculous, sir," I chuckled, shaking my head at the ludicrousness of such a duty.

"It's really only for show," said Mister Bennett. "I'm going to need you to be at the captain's quarters in precisely an hour. Until then, enjoy your own meal." He tipped his hat off to me and I manually saluted, although my mind was elsewhere.

Strangely, I found myself feeling happy at the request. It was indeed true that Mister Bennett had been the kindest stranger to me on the ship, and perhaps standing behind his chair and watching him and the other officers laugh, eat and drink would not be so bad.

I halted my happy thoughts for a moment when a troubling thought entered my mind. _What if he is an ally of Griffith's? Perhaps that is why he is being so kind._ Immediately, my peace and harmony were disturbed and I looked in growing disgust at Mister Bennett's distant figure as he spoke with another sailor.

"Damn, cad," I mumbled. "If you are truly Griffith's ally, then I will have to sink your bodily ship along with Griffith's arrogant one." Aggravated with the possible dilemma, I did not notice that Andre had returned, with two brown and crusted circles of what I assumed to be hardtack. He began to slam it on the table we sat at until bits and pieces of it began to scatter everywhere.

"Why are you doing that?" I asked, getting sick of the constant, _tap, tap, tap _of his rock-hard biscuit.

"Weevils," he said, and as soon as he said that, a small, worm-like thing landed on the table and began to inch blindly around. "There's one right there," he said, pointing to the skinny, white squirming thing. I gulped and courageously flicked the weevil away with my finger and finally excused myself from Andre's company. _Griffith, horse, grog and weevils._ _Oh the glorious life on the sea._

Leaving Andre to happily chew on his indigestible sea biscuit, I calmly approached Mister Cooke for a mug of this 'grog.' He wiped his greasy brow with his hairy elbow before giving me a mug and pointing to a barrel standing not too far from me. "Tha's where iz always gonna be, boy," said Mister Cooke. "Now stop buggin' me for drinks when you can get 'em yerself." Highly tolerable of his clearly spoken displeasure of me, I gratefully took the mug from his hand and walked over to the barrel to fill it to the brim. The stew's saltiness made my mouth dry as a desert, and I eagerly chugged down the grog I emptied from the barrel, some of it trickling down my chin.

"Don't get too happy," said a gruff voice behind me. "We're limited to only two drinks of grog a day. The rest of the while, it's ale or the closest thing to water." I turned my head around, startled and slightly discouraged from drinking down my grog as hungrily as I wanted to.

"Why?" I asked, wiping my face with my sleeve and facing the sailor who had spoken.

"Captain's orders. Grog is rationed so we all don't get bloody drunk." He snickered and took a sip from his own tankard and I felt awkward at the mentioning of alcohol. _Dammit, I just chugged the lot of this down and then the man finally tells me there's alcohol in it._

"Shouldn't be then," I said, acting as if the potency of alcohol did not affect me, though it most certainly did. I hoped I would stay sober long enough to endure my service as Midshipman Bennett's server at the captain's supper. Wisely, I traveled away from the sailor who had spoken to me and sat myself across from Andre again, resting my elbows on the table and resting my jaw in the palm of my hand.

"Ya finished already?" asked Andre, just finishing his last piece of hardtack. "If I ate as much as you did, well, I'd be a twig." I had the urge to mumble, "All men are carnivorous dogs," but Andre would have taken that as an insult, which would not work because I was also a man in their eyes and was expected to eat like one. Sadly, I believed my stomach would not be up to the challenge.

"Aye. Feelin' more tired than hungry actually. But, I gotta stay awake. Gonna be servin' prim Mister Bennett while he eats."

"Mister Bennett is dining with the captain?" said Andre, slightly surprised. "I always thought Griffith would be first to eat with the cap'n, considerin' he's… well… Griffith. But, eh, Griffith don't deserve that rank anyway." He stood abruptly from his bench and nodded farewell to me, saying he was going to go find Roland or Dobbin and talk with them. I sighed at his leave. I was alone again and surrounded by the less than splendid company of old, anonymous sailors.

After analyzing my situation of sheer boredom, I left the galley and sought relaxation near where my hammock was stored. Seeing that some men were stringing them up for the night, I set mine up, hopped in and swung about, soothed by the slow, steady sway.

"Boo!" came a bark, and a few hands pushed below my hammock and out I popped from it, dazed and spooked by the dirty trick. From the shelter of the space below my hammock, Will and Dan emerged, laughing hysterically.

"Very funny, ye no good arseholes," I growled back, clenching my fists to give the boys a hell of a beating.

"Tsk, tsk," said Will. "Swearin' in fron' o' us chil'ren." He waved a disapproving finger at me, much like how Maggie had done when I was a girl.

"Aye, _children._ Not boys, not men, but _children._ Vile, ignorant and pain-in-the-arse, no good _children_," I shot back, my mouth theoretically foaming from rage. "When both of you's die, they'll prolly have you two share a death sack 'cause o' yer puny sizes." That happened to make Will and Dan finally shut up and they glared weakly at me, shifting their stares from the floor then back to my burning face and then back to the floor. "Now that I finally managed to shut yer big mouths shut, I want ya to get and leave me the hell alone." Muttering and swearing at me in quiet voices, they trudged off, too smacked in the face with defeat to fight back. Pleased and smiling, I went back to my hammock and resumed my state of half-closed eyes and a mind in the clouds.

_Astrid, oh, why didn't you ask to go to the privy first before you decided to stand behind Mister Bennett's chair? _I found it difficult to stand still for I _really_ had to go pay a visit to the privy. The grog I drank ravenously had now made it through my system and was desperately seeking a way to be released, but I couldn't go. The captain, his three lieutenants, the sailing master, Mister Bennett and a bunch of other noble men I did not know were laughing and happily eating their fine meal of baked fish and steaming smooth mashed taters and boiled vegetables. And if the delectable food was not killing me, the urge to find the privy and let it all out was making me squirm inside.

"Captain Carlisle!" said a lieutenant, the one with the powdered white wig. Raising his wine glass while clearing his throat he said, "To a safe and most victorious voyage!" The men followed his lead and raised their glasses up as well, and after a few clinks and huzzahs they went off to drink the mellow ruby red wine.

I was about ready to scream and run off like a blind bat to find a privy, but for propriety's sake, I stayed still, hoping my rather stiff and distant appearance would not catch the attention of any of the officers. Luckily, they were too busy talking about possible encounters with one of Bonaparte's ships. I could have cared less about this Napoleon Bonaparte at the moment. My mind was focused on going to a privy, and _fast._

My foot began to tap frantically on the ground as the desire to reach a privy was growing tremendously with each excruciating second. _Oh, just shut up and leave, all of you, so I can go and relieve myself! _The men continued to chatter and laugh heartily, my discomfort safely still unnoticed to them. The young sailor who stood beside me sent me a confused look, wondering why I was trying so desperately to appear as if I was not jittery, when in reality I was. I was so tempted to explode that I did not mind the sailor's unwanted glance, and I merely continued to remain in a poised, but collapsing state of decorum.

At last, the captain bade the officers good night, and everyone was finally dismissed, including me. _Thank God!_ Before I could burst through the doors of the captain's quarters, Midshipman Bennett addressed me as I hurried away from him. "A job well done, Barlow," he said, giving my shoulder a few pats.

"Yes. Not fully used to it yet, but, it was an honor to serve you, Mister Bennett," I said hurriedly, practically speaking gibberish to his ears. He must have perceived my clear discomfort and looked at me with more serious and inquisitive squinting eyes.

"Are you well?" he asked quietly, understanding not to make a large scene of me.

"To be honest," I said, shifting my legs nervously with the ache to finally find a damn privy. "I'm not. I've been wantin' to go to the privy for ages, sir. There, I said it." I avoided his stare and switched my sight to the floor, grimacing at my jumpy feet.

"Oh," said Mister Bennett, clearly sorry that he had asked. "To relieve yourself, run down the deck. You should be at the bow and you should see a door. Enter it and you'll be in a room with curved walls and a long bench. That's the head."

"Head? Oh, wait, privy, you mean? All right. All right." I sped off to find the door he had spoken of, but I remembered what a large favor he had done for me and yelled, "Thank you!" on my way to my well-needed destination.

Bennett's instructions led me directly to the small door he had mentioned, and I knocked a few times and found no answer and so happily grabbed the door handle and yanked it open, locking myself in the darkness of its rather, reeking cavity. I immediately pinched my nose, for the smell was absolutely insufferable. "Good God," I coughed. I found the small hole that was the privy, and gagging and covering my mouth with my hand, I reluctantly did my business.

My line of patience was being thinned out at an alarming rate and it would soon break at any moment. Currently, I lied opposite Andre in our hammock, in the dark. All men not on watch were asleep, and Andre's unreasonably blaring snores were keeping me from retiring to the necessity of slumber. I fidgeted uncomfortably in the hammock, casually sending a small kick to Andre's thick and long legs that practically took up half of my whole half of the hammock. With a growl, I turned on my side, resting my cheek on the back of my hand and stared out into the darkness. _I will demand that you, Mister Bennett, give me my own hammock as soon as morning arrives, dammit._

Andre shifted in his sleep and unknowingly caught my legs in his. I shoved them off with an aggravated huff and mumbled a curse. He merely rested his head on a coarse puffy sack that was his pillow and continued to dream… and not to mention _drool_ the night away. "Easy for you to do so," I murmured, plopping my head on my own small and itchy pillow to look up at the bristled wood that floated above me.

Abruptly, I heard a small snort come from the hammock next to mine, and found red-haired Willard move in his hammock, raising an arm into the air, only to have it relax and fall limply at the side of his hammock. It surprised me how sleep came so easily to these boys. Then again, they knew the life a lot better than I did, and therefore were comfortable enough to drift off into pleasant dreams as soon as the lanterns were blown out.

Trying my best to disregard the strange sleeping behavior of men, I closed my eyes, seeking for solitude and peace in my weak and naïve mind. Gradually, my thoughts about the sea and the very eventful first day on the _H.M.S Resolve_ soothed me, and Andre's unbearable snores began to muffle in my ears as I finally found sleep and rest in another dream with the intriguing Captain Jack Sparrow.

This time, I found him on a small, isolated island looking for something. He'd pause every now and then and wrinkle his sunburned brow, scratching his head. He'd then leave the place he was searching to relocate to another piece of ground and knelt in the sand, using his hands to dig out the thing he was looking for.

"What are you doing?" I asked, approaching him more confidently now that I knew he was my true father. I knelt down beside him, helping him scoop away handfuls of sand.

"Me treasure, love," he answered, his voice slightly in distress. "I knew exactly where I buried it and now I can't bloody find it!" His fingers dug deeper into the sand with a stronger commitment than before and still refrained from looking at me.

"Didn't you make a map telling you where it is?" I asked, stopping my hands and deciding just to stare at him until he stared back. He resumed digging.

"Of course I did, but I lost it, love."

"How long ago did you bury it?"

"Long, long time, Astrid," he muttered, probably getting fed up with my questions, but I pressed his patience further.

"If you loved your treasure so much, then why did you forget where you put it? It's obvious you didn't care about it as much as you claim to." His hands stopped and he clenched fistfuls of sand before finally whirling his head towards me, his dreadlocks almost whacking me in the face. "People forget things, all right, love?" he said.

"Even things they love?" I parried. "I'd never do that."

"Ye just did. I'm not the only one who's forgotten the things they loved." He looked me in the eye with grave seriousness and I hushed at his omnipotent stare. Behind his drunken face and clueless eyes, the man had a deep understanding of the world and a human's emotions.

I knew what he was talking about. He meant me forgetting him, my father.

"I'm sorry," I said, finding a twig in the sand and stabbing it in another place. "Back then, I thought I'd remember you forever, but it seemed as though it was better for me to forget for a while. Can you forgive me?" He didn't answer and got up, wiping his sandy hands on his legs and stomping off to find another location to dig in.

"Dammit, I still can't find me bloody treasure!" he grumbled, kicking the sand. I watched his diminishing figure with a diminishing hope. It made me wonder if Jack would even remember that he had a daughter, and more importantly, if he could even remember any bit of me in his pirate head.

"Bye, Daddy," I whispered before the blurring horizon swallowed Jack whole. As he left, I remembered a question that had become dormant in my head for a while, but awakened. "Who stole your ship?" I got no answer, for Jack had faded below the horizon, and I was left to kneel in the sand, watching him leave with a heartsickness that only he could conquer.


	5. One Ship's Fool

_Chapter Five: One Ship's Fool_

_**R**__at-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat…_ Something was whistling in my ear. It was loud and angry, but it was deadened through my sleeping ears. I was not awake yet, but close enough to begin hearing things. The voice got louder, screaming even, but still soft enough to be defeated by my poor hearing yet again. I rolled onto my side and felt for my rough pillow. The stiff, reed-like threads brushed against my hand and I quickly dunked my head below it to stifle more of the yells coming in my direction.

_Let me sleep, dammit._

My refusal to listen to whoever was yelling at me provoked whoever was calling me to grab my shoulders and shake me forcefully. I tried to jerk myself away, but I kept on bobbing back and forth like a limp doll until at last I opened my eyes, only to have my face smacked into the bristly tarp of my pillow.

"Get up, now, ya useless loafer!" said a rasping voice. I knew exactly who it was, and I was immediately sorry for being so insubordinate.

"Aye, sir!" I said as enthusiastically as I could while sleepiness was slowly freeing me from its gratifying clutch.

"Get up to deck! We're runnin' a drill and ya got to beat to quarters!" _Beat to quarters?_ _What the hell was that supposed to mean?_

Throwing on my coat over my wrinkled pirate wear and grabbing my hat, I ran up the steps from below up to the main deck, but not before sending a quick salute to good old Mister Sumner for waking me. If not, I would have been branded with the name of 'idiot' on the ship, as if I was not already considered one back at Port Royal.

"Beat to quarters," I repeated. _Well, quarters are where we reside in on the ship, so why would we beat them?_

When I emerged from below, I expected to be blinded in the face with the bright sunshine, but I was met with complete and utter gloominess. The sky was a pale grey, signaling that morning would not be far away, but amidst the austere weather, I still relished the strong, ocean breezes that traveled up my nose and through my lungs, reviving me from a night of sleep.

Conscious enough to begin actually doing something, I ran aimlessly around the main deck, stopping every now and then to examine what the hell the sailors were doing. The drumbeat began to get very faint, and I knew the drill would end soon, and I would have done nothing. _Damn, Astrid, _I thought. _Second day on board and you are still a piece of useless baggage._

My face began to feel hot with embarrassment and I was forcing myself to continue acting like I was doing something, but it only made me feel more of a fool. I was scurrying across the starboard side of the ship when the floor grumbled below me and let out a dissonance of consecutive blasts and booms that left echoes which still thundered themselves to the quietness of the sea.

By the end of the firing, I stood on deck, shocked and numb with the noise and action. _Dear Astrid, what have you gotten yourself into?_ My hands were shaking when I pulled them away from my ringing ears and I looked around in bewilderment, trying to grasp what had happened. Beat to quarters meant to prepare for battle. I could have accepted the title as 'ship idiot' right then and there and would not have objected to such a revolting name.

A bell was rung and the activity on all decks ceased as Captain Carlisle left his place by the wheel, hands behind his back and with a serious face. He walked promptly to the gathering crowd of sailors and officers, which I followed, and was soon surrounded by his crew; the grave look on his face had not lifted yet.

"A job well done, men," he said tonelessly, most likely not meaning it at all. "A bit of improvement is needed, but by what I have seen today, I see that there are two different men on this ship." He paused, staring at some random sailor's expressionless face and then to another's. I happened to weave my way closer to him to get a better look.

"There are those who follow orders and carry them out swiftly and effectively." His glare had shifted to Griffith, who stood grinning at himself. "And then there are those who seem to forget why they are here, those who forget their duty." The next thing I did not foresee, and the captain laid his harsh eyes directly on _me_ and I shuddered internally. I was a horrible seaman already.

When at last his green eyes finally targeted on some other prey, I relaxed again but felt burdened for not doing my duty, and duty was part of the foundation of a crew.

"Back to your stations. Mister Thorne, Mister Johnson, Mister Kempe…"

An assembly of about seven officers left with the captain down below deck, and the rest of us were left to suffer under Griffith's unquenchable thirst for glory and respect.

"You heard what the captain said," barked Griffith. "Back to your posts! Mister Bennett, you are officer of the watch as Third Lieutenant Kempe is with the Captain. You shall be accompanied by Mister Turner and Mister Lester. Gunners below to clean up the batteries. Powder monkeys too, along with ship's boys, Jamison and Greene."

He halted to raise his chin in the air, glowering at each man who dared to look him in the eye.

"What you did today was not good enough!" he spat. "A lot of work is going to be needed if we will ever be prepared to defeat any of our foes, and the work begins _now_!" The men scattered like blind mice about the place, trying to fulfill Griffith's orders, although I had a definite feeling it was not in his power to issue so many orders. Then again, I was the greenest of all men on board. I didn't know much.

Again, I was left with nothing to do, and I ambled about futilely, making sure Griffith would not catch me being idle and beat me. Thankfully, he went below deck, calling Will and Dan to help straighten out below. I was left on Watch, and Roland and Dobbin and Andre were there, but they seemed to ignore me.

The trio had climbed up some ratlines to get to the foremast and began chatting up there, happily content that I was still left with no idea of what my exact duty was.

"Friends of yours?" came a voice behind me. I turned around hurriedly only to find Mister Bennett, officer of the watch, looking up at the trio, his eyes narrowed to clear his vision.

"No," I said. "Only one is. The rest are more like… acquaintances, sir."

"How did you think we faired this morning on our first drill?" I looked at him and raised an eyebrow, wondering why he would ever consider my opinion worthy when I knew nothing about the sea.

"I'm not sure," I said honestly. "I didn't do anything 'cause I didn't know what to do. I woke up late."

Bennett smirked and cast his glance away from the foretop that the boys were on and walked towards the stern of the ship, to the quarterdeck. After reaching his designated spot, he leaned on the railing and looked out into the rising sun, which appeared nothing more than a pale yellow circle overwhelmed by the density of the grey clouds. It would not be a nice day.

"The first thing you should never do, Jack, is wake up late. You must rise when the bell is rung or when the drumbeat is played to indicate for us to Beat to Quarters."

His head veered in my direction and I caught it by surprise. I thought he was not talking to me anymore and I was about ready to join Roland at the foretop and ask what the hell was going on. "It's the simplest thing a man can do on board, Jack," he added, quite haughtily if I remembered correctly. It was certain that he found me very ignorant and I sought to escape any further embarrassment by speaking with him.

"I guess I'll remember that then, sir," I replied, giving him the proper salutation before changing direction and stomping over to the foremast.

I was not sure if Bennett was a good young man or if he just had a kind face accompanied by a personality as bad as Griffith's. If that was the case, then I would not believe it. True, he seemed far superior than me or Roland and even Dobbin, but that was more likely because of his age. By his face, height and striking well-built form, I deemed he could not have been more than seventeen.

I considered his small bit of advice helpful and useless at the same time. He warned me of the importance of being punctual, and yet, I always forgot the most important of guidelines. The advice could possibly work for a few days, but after that, it would be forgotten. Still, I took his suggestion at heart but was too humiliated to thank him.

When I was but a few feet from the bottom of the foremast, I stared back at the far end of the boat to see how young Mister Bennett was fairing. He paced slowly across the starboard side, close to the railing, his face turned towards the cobalt blue sea and his brows wrinkled in concentration that I very much lacked. He was a man of obligation and dignity, like Adam, and by looking at him; it made me miss my lovely lieutenant all the more.

Shaking my girlish thoughts away, I approached the ratlines and looked up at the trio, frowning for not being included. I grabbed them and shook them, but my arms did not achieve the effect I wanted. The lines barely even wiggled, for the force I inflicted was far too weak.

That was another thing I had to work on: my strength.

Seeing that my attempt to grab their attention had failed, I began climbing up the rigging, perhaps too quickly for my own sake. I was so determined to at least appear like I knew the ropes, but I lost my footing and would have slipped to a broken leg, if my hands had not grasped the thick rope to steady myself.

A few laughs came, not from sailors on Watch, but from Roland and Dobbin and Andre. Strangely, I did not look at them to save me from my discomfiture. I had turned my head towards where Bennett could have possibly been roaming in and I saw that he was looking up at me, smirking at my less than graceful scaling of the ratlines. _Dammit, Astrid. First you wake up late, and now you show your inexperience all the more by climbing the lines with two left feet._

"Ya need help there, _Jack?_" laughed Roland, comfortably calling me by my assumed name as he descended from the foremast and down the rigging to help me.

"No, no, sir," I lied. I looked down at the deck that seemed so far below me and changed my mind. "Well… perhaps some assistance would be nice." Roland chuckled again and lent me his hand to haul me up to where Dobbin and Andre were positioned.

"No need to call me sir, at the moment, Jack," said Roland. "You're amongst friends." Friends. _Of course. Friends of Astrid, not Jack._ _Dear Roland, you are forgetting that these young gentlemen do not know my true identity_.

"All right, Roland. But may I remind you that I—"

"Aye!" he interrupted, knowing very well what I was about to say and cutting me off before I destroyed my whole career on the ocean. "A proper introduction, aye? How rude of me!" With my face pinched in confusion, he properly introduced me to Dobbin, whom I had already encountered from the previous day.

"Good to see you again, Barlow," said Dobbin, shaking my hand. Before he let go of it though, he put forth a question I was afraid of answering. "Have… Have I met you before? You look oddly familiar." I glanced at Roland and he refused to help me and merely turned his head to the side, whistling. _Fine, dear Brother, if you will not tell them, I shall._

"No, sir," I said. "Haven't been to England in forever and I don't recall ever being in Port Royal." Dobbin finally let go of my hand, probably finding it familiar at the touch.

"How do you know Roland then?" he asked, suspecting my lie too well.

"Met him while in St. Vincent, Dob," answered Roland, laughing falsely. "Said he was lookin' for a ship to sign on and I told him I was too and we happened to have a lot in common." There was troubling pause as Dobbin stared curiously at his long time friend.

"Why did you leave Port Royal, Roland?" he asked, finding every loophole in Roland's and mine's lies.

"I… Well… I…"

"There was an attack on Port Royal and the _Paramount_ was injured, therefore he had to relocate onto a different ship, correct, Mister Turner?" I explained, getting him out of his mute ditch. He seemed extremely relieved that I had thought up his answer for him and happily nodded in agreement.

"Why didn't you tell us this?" yelled Dobbin. "My God, you could have been killed jus' like Tim! Is everyone all right? What about your family and your lass, Stephanie? And your sister?" I snickered inside for funny little Astrid stood right in front of him. At least Dobbin was back to chatting endlessly again.

"They're fine, Dobbin," said Roland, clapping his mate's shoulder. "Adam got wounded, and Astrid, well, she has either joined the pirates or run away. She wasn't in the house or town in the morning. As for Stephanie, well, she was under her brother's and father's care and so she was probably kept safe. As for my parents and grandfather, well… they… they're fine as well."

The last few words were hard for him to get out of his mouth, and at the end of it, he sighed and leaned on his back on the mast, plagued with the possible affliction that Mum, Dad, Grandfather and our servants could have gone through while we were trying to escape.

_I know, Roland. I miss them too._

"You never said goodbye to them, did you?" said Dobbin, understanding Roland's morose behavior all too well. Roland shook his head feebly, before saying, "No," in just as weak a voice.

"It was too sudden," he confessed. "I wish I could have. I really do."

"You'll be back home in no time, brother," ensured Dobbin, giving Roland a few pats on the back. "I have to wait a couple more years before I can go home."

"You're lucky you have homes," said Andre sullenly. The boys nodded in agreement with each other while I just stood and watched, unable to relate to any of them except for Roland. Perhaps it was because Andre was an orphan that kept him from being promoted to a midshipman, for midshipmen were warrant officers and were encouraged to have pure and noble blood. An orphan was considered a cur, a mix of undesirable blood such as myself.

"Mister Turner, Mister Lester, I am sorry to interrupt, but Mister Griffith has called you to him." We all looked below and found Mister Bennett beckoning for the said officers to descend. Dobbin was the first to utter a complaint as he came down the lines to the main deck.

"That bloody Griffith thinks he's already captain! Callin' us to him as if we was lackeys, when we are, in truth, all of the same rank!" he yelled freely, not afraid if Griffith himself heard it.

"See ya, Jack, Andre," said Roland before tipping his hat off to us and climbing down as well.

"G'day, sirs," I called in return, bidding them farewell. I watched as their heads vanished below to the lower deck.

Andre and I were left standing on the foretop, looking bored and being unable to break the empty talk between us. The conversation would always begin with us having something in common to share with each other, and then it would die down. The lad and I were just not connecting very well and it was because one of us was afraid of becoming more open and perhaps friendlier to each other. I was not sure if it was me, but there was a limited amount of things I could say to a man. If they knew who I was, I would be telling them everything on my mind, but to divulge my womanhood would earn me my death.

"Why did you decide to join the Navy?" I asked him, waiting for his reaction. He didn't answer and turned his head, becoming a bit of a cynic at the question. _Fine, petty Andre. Continue being silent. Jack will never tell you anything anyway._

Slightly exasperated, I left Andre where he stood and made my way down to the deck again in hopes of finding better company with Bennett. I found the young officer standing on the larboard bow of the ship, eyes still in their same focused state as he observed the tame sea. Making sure I was not too demonstrative of my desire to start a conversation, I nonchalantly approached him and leaned out over the edge, humming my favorite pirate song.

"Did you find your discussion with the fellow midshipmen enjoyable?" he asked, not appearing forward either. I wondered if he craved banter as much as I did when I was alone, or did he take pleasure in his solitude?

"I would not say enjoyable, sir," I replied, keeping my eyes on the gently moving water. "I'd say it was more peaceful than exciting. It gave me the chance to feel… accepted for a few moments." My eagerness to see his reaction forced me to look at him while patiently awaiting his answer, and he probably caught my interested stare on the side of his head and looked at me with a slightly amused expression, his limpid blue eyes soft and placid.

"Are you a friend of Mister Turner?" he said at last, slowly withdrawing from his infallible posture and leaning on the rail as well, shoulders hunched a bit as he brought his hands together.

"I guess I could consider myself a friend to him," I returned. "He's a good lad. A good ally on this ship." Bennett sent his stare once again in my direction, but he seemed too serious and concerned for my own good.

"What causes you to think that allies will be essential on this journey?" he asked, almost as an order. "No man on this ship deserves any more protection than what another is given." I hastily re-worded my statement. I was looking at myself as if I was still a woman in need of protection, but clearly I was not to be treated as one any more.

"I didn't mean it like that, sir," I said, almost apologetically. "It's just, I see the evident schemes surfacing about this ship. All of you seem to follow Mister Griffith's lead, and well, he's just a midshipman like you. I can see that ranks are evenly distributed, but not power." I must have ignited a fuse of anger and bitterness in Bennett, for he parried my observation with more than just mere enthusiasm.

"Mister Griffith has been a midshipman for many a year, Jack. He's _earned_ his respect and power. It was not given to him as a benediction! He's done a tremendous amount of deeds to achieve his esteem, work that you are unacquainted with." I looked away, grinning at his automatic defense for Griffith. I understood that the two had some sort of bond, either as mates or associates, and it made me want to laugh out loud how he had unconsciously proven his own self incorrect.

"Mister Bennett," I began, turning to him with a very complacent smile on my face. "You said that no man on this ship deserves any more protection than what another man is given, correct?" He peered suspiciously at me, his once bright blue eyes appearing to turn dark.

"Yes," he hesitantly answered, unwilling to hear me continue with my discovery.

"Well, you just espoused the position of Mister Griffith with much dedication, while opposing me fully. Now… wait… that does not agree with what you said earlier, Mister Bennett. You just protected Mister Griffith and condemned me. So you see, there _are_ alliances amongst these men that you are unaware of."

"These men need leadership and Mister Griffith does well in doing so, especially as only a midshipman," replied Bennett.

"No, Mister Bennett. You are mistaken if life on a ship is fair and power is not at all abused." In all too expressive distaste and rejection of my thesis, Bennett turned hotly away from me, directing his eyes back onto the consoling sea instead of at my honest face. Perhaps I had just ruined all possibility of further conversation with him.

"Mister Bennett—"

"Your orders are to take Newton and yourself and exchange places with the other ship's boys, Will Jamison and Daniel Greene. You are to stay below deck assisting any men in need of your services until the bell is rung for the end of this watch. Am I understood?" I bit my lip, forcing myself not to yell at his back, and reluctantly, I obliged to his orders.

"Aye, sir," I mumbled through grinding teeth. I gave him a weak salute before heading towards the foremast to retrieve Andre and tell him of our new orders.

I grumbled inwardly at the cleverness of men. By sending me below, Bennett had put me under the command of the awful Midshipman Griffith, who immediately sent me to help Mister Cooke, cook. At that moment, I was peeling my umpteenth potato and my hands were pruned, sore, and covered with minor cuts from the small knife I was given to peel the damn vegetables. Andre was not fairing much better and was currently covering his hands in blood by helping chop up meat. As for Mister Cooke, he was lazily wandering about amongst the other sailors having a drink of grog.

_Damn all men to the hot place!_

The edge of my knife slipped over the wet side of the potato I was peeling and made another slit in my poor thumb. "Dammit!" I yelled, slamming both vegetable and blade into the bucket of potatoes I worked over. "I've had enough of this nonsense!" I growled and stupidly abandoned my duties to find water to wash my bleeding finger.

"You there! Ship's boy!" came a yell. "Get back to your post right this instant!" I halted and stiffened with the desire to be uncooperative with pugnacious Griffith. I didn't care if he beat me for being insubordinate, but I could not tolerate the monotonous tasks of a ship's boy any longer.

Abruptly, I whirled around and glared at Griffith's unappeased visage, not a word of agreement coming from my mouth. His face inflamed at my rebuff. "_Now_!" he shouted, pointing a taut finger at a spot in front of him. Licking my lips at the possible thrill of an exhilarating fight, I stared back at him, casting the fear he tried to instill upon me with a toss of my head.

"Aye, sir," I said, lifting my foot and trudging up to him with clumsy steps. The men began to snicker and I was too pleased with myself to give up the act.

As soon as I was standing right in front of him, he stepped to the side and pushed me forward. "Do you enjoy making sport of your commanding officer now, Jack?" he taunted as I stumbled to my feet. "Next time you even think of defying me, you shall find yourself in conflict with more than just my fist."

He snuck up behind me and shoved me towards the potatoes I was peeling with such force that I fell again, finding it difficult to restrain myself from chucking my peeling knife at his pretty face. He stalked off, proud that he had succeeded in taming me, but I couldn't have been more provoked.

I was back to peeling potatoes, damn slippery potatoes. The cuts on my hand were introduced to more of their cousins, but I had already done too much rebuttal for that day. First with Bennett and then with Griffith. I was almost done with the sack I had to peel when a firm hand seized my arm and hauled me away from my spot and away from my duty. Who else could it have been but Roland?

"What the hell did you do?" he snarled, dragging me over to the midshipmen's berth, which happened to be where Dobbin and Bennett were as well, lounging amongst their own hammocks.

"What?" I asked. Roland smacked my head for my impudence and continued to scold me.

"What the hell did you think you were doing, challenging Griffith?" he yelled, ready to slap my head again. He almost did, but I caught his arm.

"All I did was get up to fetch some water for my hands, Roland," I said, defending my already condemned self. "I was going to go back and finish my duty but damn Griffith thought I was being rebellious!"

"Which you ended up being anyway!" yelled Roland in return, freeing his arm easily from my weak grasp and whacking me on the head again. "Dammit, Jack, ya always gotta be so bloody, so bloody-!" He cut off with a growl.

"Well, peeling potatoes for hours on end was not what I expected as a godforsaken ship's boy!"

"Then you'd better get accustomed to it because as a ship's boy, you aren't required to be brave or skilled. You're supposed to be obedient and helpful!" He took off his hat and threw it on the floor in anger and fell back onto a chair, too angry to speak with me any further.

"How the hell am I ever supposed to be that when I'm just as brave as any of you cads on this ship?" Roland laughed mockingly and sat up in the chair, looking at me in bitter disbelief.

"You, _brave?_" he scorned. "Tell me, Jack, have you ever watched your own friends die before your eyes because of some blasted enemy? Have you seen arms and legs and heads cut off and heard the screams of men undergoing operation? Have you killed so many men that the blood on your wounds and on your own clothes is covered not in _your_ blood but in your _enemy's_? Tell me, Jack!"

He grabbed me and shook me, waiting for me to say no, and the word was on the tip of my tongue trying to escape in shameful admission.

"Have you ever honestly killed a man with no regret or remorse and only deep hatred to fuel your murderous actions? Hmm? Do tell, for I am sure we would all love to hear your fantastic stories, you witty little raconteur."

"No," I mumbled, jerking myself away from him and trying to walk away to find peace elsewhere.

"Would you care to repeat that, brother, for all ears to hear?"

"No!" I shouted, ready to punch his face in for disparaging me further. "I bloody haven't, all right? Are you finished revealing me for the fool I am?"

Not lifting his disappointed glare at me, he simply replied, "yes," and at his honest confession, I stormed away from him and his damn midshipmen allies, stomping on his stupid top hat in the process.


	6. Friend or Foe?

_Chapter Six: Friend or Foe?_

**W**hen the men were called down to eat supper, I did not join them. Plus, I knew Andre would be there and he would never talk to me about anything personal no matter how hard I tried, and therefore I concluded that my efforts to confide in him would be useless. With a moan, I set up my hammock and hopped in, propping my back with my pillow and staring about the empty space, wishing for someone to talk to.

On a sudden impulse to do something, I rolled out of my hammock and crawled over to my sea chest and dug for some of the paper, quill and ink that I had brought along with me. Perhaps I'd keep an account of my adventures on the sea. It would certainly give solid proof of my time on the ocean at least, and it would help me remember the experience better.

Supplies in arms, I scurried over to my hammock and hopped in again, ready to occupy myself for the rest of the night with my attempt at writing.

"Day One," I said, as I wrote the letters on the paper. In truth, it was really Day Two, but I would just add what happened on day one in the day two entry. "Today was…Today was full of rebellion, all, of course, because of me. I must always instigate chaos wherever I go, mustn't I?" My left hand did a poor job of writing the words in a readable manner.

"I wouldn't say that," said a voice that happily welcomed itself into my business. I looked up from my parchment, annoyed by the interruption.

"What would you know about it?" I retorted, not lifting my head and continuing to scribble words. I then realized that I had spoken rudely to an officer, and I dropped my quill and looked up at him.

"I'd know much, on account of the fact that I have a journal myself."

"Why are you here, Mister Bennett? Shouldn't you be with the other middies?" He stood at the opposite end of my hammock, his arm holding onto the metal ring on the ceiling where the hammock lines were tied. He was dressed in the normal midshipman outfit: slightly loose white britches, stockings up the knees, a beige vest over a shirt, and a neckerchief tied around his throat. He was not wearing his dark blue navy coat though. Must have been too hot, which was why my own coat was folded neatly in my sea chest.

"Griffith is dining with the captain tonight, and Roland and Dobbin are supping with the other mids. Thought I'd… apologize for my less than approving behavior earlier today."

After sending him a disbelieving glare, I resumed writing on my paper, not replying to him. Surprisingly though, it was the first time I had heard him call the other midshipmen by their common names instead of the usual Mister in front of their surname. Perhaps he was not so uptight at all.

"How long have you been a middy?" I asked, refraining from looking him in the eye.

"How long? Well, about three years. Been one since I was fourteen." Although I did not watch him, I heard his feet move away from my hammock, only to return with a louder 'thump.' I finally decided to see what he was up to and saw that he had sat himself on a crate beside my hammock, mouth open and ready to talk again.

"That'd make you seventeen then," I said, resting my quill.

"You can count," he said. "Not many ship's boys can. The others can barely count to ten." I smirked and reluctantly chose to give him my undivided attention.

"Well, I was educated as a lad, so I know more than the average ship's boy." The same amused look came onto his face and he scratched his brown hair. It was cut shorter than most lads around, only about two to four inches long and barely covering his ears. _Must be the style in Britain._

"If I'm not mistaken, it is recorded in the ship's book that you are an orphan. How was it possible that you received an education? Also, if you do not mind my asking, Mister Sumner said that you were good with a sword. You seem far too well-bred to be an orphan, Jack."

"Well, I ran into a lot of interesting people on my life journey, Bennett," I replied, finding it safe to address him informally. "And those people taught me quite a lot of things."

"If we knew who your parents were, perhaps you would be a midshipman instead of a low ship's boy. I can tell the job is not for you."

"Aye. Second day on board and I am already in bad favor of Mister Victor Griffith." As soon as I said the horrid name, I quickly regretted doing so. "Not that he's bad," I added. "I'm not used to taking orders very well. Something that I was very well warned of by Roland." I scolded at myself. "I mean, Mister Turner."

"You seem to know Roland very well. Are you past shipmates?" he asked, not very eagerly, but he was doing a very good job of concealing any interest he had in my life.

"No," I said simply. "Just met him a few days ago in St. Vincent. We got along very easily. The friendship I have with him is… solid but unstable. We can both combust at certain moments for some reason."

"You mean he's yelled at you before?" questioned Bennett, growing all the more keen. His zeal to poke into my life was beginning to bother me.

"Yes, plenty of times," I replied earnestly.

"In a matter of a few days?" probed Bennett skeptically. Again, I had underestimated his intelligence, and I began to develop the bad feeling that he was subtly interrogating me in a way where I would not know I was being interrogated. Thankfully, I managed to catch the pattern of answer and question.

I turned to him frowning, and he seemed to lower his interest in my answers and even leaned away from me. _Yes, Bennett. You should be moving away because Astrid knows very well what you are doing._

"All right, so you don't seem to trust me, do you?" I asked coolly.

"Jack, I was merely asking out of curiosity. I never intended for this conversation to turn into an inquisition," he said, looking directly at me with apparent sincerity in his eyes. At once, I let my guard down and accepted that he was telling the truth.

"Well, it seemed like one," I mumbled, picking up my piece of paper and writing again. I meant to show him that I was not pleased with his company anymore, but he was too persistent.

"I… I thought about what you said earlier today about alliances and rivalry on this ship, and I came to the conclusion that you were indeed correct." The words seemed to come miserably from his mouth, too ashamed to have to agree with the opinion of a mere ship's boy.

"Did you now?" I snickered, smiling at the page I was writing on. "What made you change your mind?"

"You did, actually. I find it very embarrassing that I never noticed such a thing before. You're very observant of human behavior."

"No," I said modestly. "I just happen to come across plenty of proud coves who think they own the world, and well, I'm just not one for that. Then again, I am very much a hypocrite. I dream of captaining my own ship one day, to have all power in my hands, but… that would lead to the aforementioned rivalry and war that would soon erupt due to the abuse of authority."

I glanced at Bennett to see how he had responded, and he sat, staring at me in bewilderment with a slightly open jaw. I laughed and creased my paper before hopping out of my hammock.

"Wouldn't you agree, Bennett?" I said, giving his shoulder a few pats.

"Y-Yes," he stuttered, blinking a bit before looking back at me. "Perhaps I should have the captain consider you a midshipman."

"Your plea would serve ineffective," I replied. "I know nothing about the sea. Just because I don't talk or think like a ship's boy doesn't mean I can be omitted from being one." I stood in front of him, arms crossed over my chest and after a few thoughts to himself, he stood up and I immediately admired him for his height. He was tall, but he wasn't lanky like Roland. I had to force myself to keep from eyeing him up and down.

"I think I'll see how Dobbin and Roland are fairing," he said, running a hand through his hair as he contemplated on the importance of such a decision.

"Good. I think I'll go and find Andre and see what he's up to."

"Have fun then." I extended my arm for a shake of understanding, and after looking at it and then back at me, he firmly grasped it and shook it. I saluted, he nodded and then we went our separate ways.

Andre was put on as one of the ship's boys for the First Night Watch, which gave me the opportunity to have the hammock all to myself for half the night. Very pleased and beaming inside as I settled to sleep, I took off my hat and placed it over my eyes to make it easier to fall asleep.

"A bit early for goin' to sleep, eh, Jack?" said a voice. My pleasant dreams were interrupted and I lifted my hat, glaring at whoever had woken me.

"Never too early," I answered, content with ignoring any more of what he had to say and covered my eyes again.

"Oh, c'mon," he jested, slapping my hat away from my face. With a leap of anger, I sat up and snatched my hat away from him, grumbling some undecipherable curse.

"Whaddya want, sir?" I asked, lying back down and closing my eyes. Out of all times to speak, Dobbin had decided to speak to me right when I was not in the mood to talk. "Come to question me like Mister Bennett?" I teased, knowing that it was safe to make fun of the midshipman.

"The others are busy. So… I thought I'd come talk to you. You seem to be a good enough mate of Roland's. Not some snooty bum like Griffith or Bennett."

"Bennett a friend of Griffith's?" I said, just out of curiosity, for if indeed the gentle-faced Bennett was in agreement with Griffith, then I would not speak with him any further.

"Some might say so. I do. Everywhere that Griffith goes, Bennett follows. I was talkin' to some of the sailors 'round one time, and one o' them said Griffith's father and Bennett's were mates, not to mention they were in the same trade." Dobbin took off his top hat and loosened his collar. The lad must have been getting fed up with the heat.

"Trade?" I echoed, scratching my chin and acting as if I was checking for beard. Perhaps watching Roland scratch his chin back at home was a good thing, otherwise, I'd have no idea of what manly habits a lad like Jack Barlow would have.

"Aye. Griffith's and Bennett's fathers are in the slave trade." I choked at the shocking bit of news. I understood Griffith's cruelty better, but gentle, kind Bennett the son of a slaver? "They run the shipment of slaves from Africa to wherever they are needed. Damned horrible journey too, after what I've heard. Slavers are hell on earth, Jack." I quieted at the mentioning of slavers. I had heard that it was an awful, but fairly profitable trade, and Port Royal happened to be a main stop for such ships. I did not know much on the matter, but I was leaning towards opposing it as well. By the way Dobbin described it, it seemed an unredeemable sin.

"That's interesting," was what I managed to say after being shot mute with the alarming news for a few minutes. "Never would have guessed that. So… it seems that this Bennett and Griffith have… a bit of an alliance then, considerin' that their daddies are big, tough ol' slavers, eh?"

"Sure looks like it," replied Dobbin, leaning his back on the side of a wooden beam that supported the ceiling. "That's why we lads are kinda… well… reluctant to include Bennett in any of our chats." He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand and some strands of his blond hair continued to stick onto his skin, despite his attempt to wipe them away.

"I talked to him earlier today after you and Roland went off to see Griffith. He got downright defensive when I talked badly about Griffith, so I don't doubt that the two have some camaraderie." Dobbin laughed lightly and seated himself on the other side of my hammock, near my bare feet.

"What could you have possibly said to Bennett that would make a quiet lad like him shout like mad?" I shrugged and tucked my feet closer to myself and told him the story from earlier that day, including Bennett's recent apology.

"Hmm… apologized?" laughed Dobbin when I had finished. "Ha, the arrogant little cad was moved to apologize to a mere cabin boy. I'm not speakin' badly of you, by the way." I nodded in understanding and he continued smiling at the fact that the so highly spoken of Bennett had to apologize to me.

"You're from England, right?" I asked, after our conversation had dwindled somewhat. Neither of us had the courage to speak badly about Griffith or Bennett again.

"Aye. Mum and Dad and younger brother live in an estate near Swansea in Wales." _Estate, eh?_ Dobbin was from a rich family too, I deemed, though he certainly did not show it.

"Why'd ya join the Navy?" He shrugged, and placed his hat back on his sweat-drenched head.

"I didn't choose to. Me dad's an admiral and thought it'd make me man enough to return home and find me a lass. In about a year, I'll find out, 'cause I'll be goin' home then. I've had me eye on this one lass I met before I left England, but she's prolly married off to some old, wrinkly gent an' forgotten all about me."

I couldn't help but snicker. Dobbin was more than just a fearless and comical fool. He definitely could be classified as an idiotic lover as well, as were we all. "You have a lass, Jack?" he asked. I grinned and closed my eyes as I leaned back.

"Nope!" I beamed.

The drumbeat raced like my heart as I sprang from my hammock, surprisingly in sync with the other sailors leaping from slumber and shabbily pulling their trousers and shirts on. I had an easier time rising, being fully clothed and all, and quickly donned my hat and boots before dashing up the stairs.

"Someone please give me an order, anything, so that I do not look like a lethargic fool again," I said to myself as I tried to find myself an officer who could help me.

"You! Boy!" grouched some man from afar. I spun my head around and saw Mister Sumner pointing his plump, sooty finger at me. "Get yerself down below to the magazine and carry the cartridges up to the gunners!" With a grateful nod, I ran back down below, which was a rather stupid thing to do because I had no sense of direction whatsoever, and what the hell was a magazine?

Knowing that if I ran back up and asked Mister Sumner for directions, he'd probably give me a good whipping for being such a bovine lad, I chose to trust my own unreliable self and ambled below deck, looking for anything that might seem like a magazine. _Dammit, Astrid! Why didn't you ask Roland or Dobbin to give you a well-needed tour of the damn ship!_

I wove through the moving, random paths of men scurrying around. I noticed that Will and Dan emerged from a spot below with metal cylinders in their arms and they carefully carried them to the gunners. I took note of this and went further below and ran straight into a wet cloth screen. There was a slit in the cloth, and I stuck my hand through it and a ruff hand placed a rather heavy ring into the palm of my hand, and I withdrew the same metal cylinder that Will and Dan were carrying. Having enough sense to know to get the cylinder to the gunners, I swiftly left the magazine and finally fulfilled my duty.

As soon as I emerged, carrying the cylinder full of powder cartridges, Mister Bennett promptly approached me and had to yell his instructions through the blasts escalating from the currently fired guns.

"Get those cartridges quickly to the gunners!" he shouted, pointing to the gunners at the larboard battery.

A bit stricken by his savage voice, I obeyed and clumsily handed the cylinder to the first man I saw. My whole body was shaking so badly from the blasts and the unfamiliarity with the situation that the cartridge nearly slipped from my hands and to the ground as I tried to hand it to one of the gunners.

"For God's sake, don't drop it!" he yelled, his hands firmly grasping the container and shoving me off. Too unaware to have held my ground, I took a few steps back from the push and ran directly into Griffith who was pacing fore and aft around the larboard battery, spitting out orders through the thickening smoke of freshly fired cannons in the morning.

"Move it, you cur!" he screamed, ramming me harder than the other sailor had so that I fell onto the ground. He kicked me aside with his hard boot.

I wrapped my arm around my aching side as I stumbled to my feet. Unfortunately, I had gotten up too slowly and Griffith had run into me again. "God dammit!" he bellowed, forgetting his orders for once and centering all his frustration and hatred towards me. "How many times do I have to tell you to get the hell out of my way!" He seized the sleeve of my shirt and pushed me back with powerful fury, his blue eyes now wildly ablaze with the lust to cause injury.

I collided into a wall and faintly, I began to notice the ceasing fire of the guns, and the air began to clear as the smoke traveled through any open space that led out into fresh air. "You insolent bastard!" he spat, bending down and grabbing me by the collar. My eyes could not bear the evident savagery flickering madly in his own, and I cast my face down.

"I'm sor—" My attempt to apologize was sabotaged when Griffith's iron fist pummeled my jaw and filled my sorry mouth with blood. My head swung back and my mind went blank for a moment, and I was in my half-dazed state for less than a second before Griffith battered my face again.

"Griffith!" came a cry. Against the growing throb of blood beating against my skull, I heard several footsteps hurry forward and the hand grasping my collar was pulled away and I fell back, feeling my head go weak as blood dripped from my surely broken nose. "I think he's learned his lesson. Come on. Captain wants us all on main deck. The drill is over." I heard Griffith's intolerant huff shoot from his nose as he stalked off with one of the other midshipmen: Bennett.

"Let's go, Jack," said a voice. "Captain wants us on deck now. Best not make him angry as well."

"Roland," I murmured, grimacing at the salty, pungent taste of blood in my mouth.

"Don't speak. We'll get you to the doctor as soon as Captain Carlisle has spoken to all of us."

"But—"

"Not another word, brother," he snapped, and silent I became.

A few hands helped me up and I wobbled a bit as I tried to stay on my feet, but I found my ground and followed them with a swollen eyelid up to the main deck.

When we popped up from below, I felt someone grab my wrist and lead me away from Roland and Dobbin.

"You best stay in the back. If Captain sees your bloody face, he'll demand who had done it." It was Bennett, and I immediately pulled my wrist out of his grasp and went another way, not caring if the Captain saw my bloody nose or not. "Jack!" he called, coming after me again. I ignored him.

"Why don't you go back to Mister Griffith, eh, Mister Bennett? After all, I am sure he was much more injured than I was in that small tiff," I scoffed, wiping my face with the back of my hand, only to have it smeared in crimson.

"Look, Griffith has been known to be a bit rough on cabin boys. I stopped him before he could have given you a lot worse, Jack. I believe thanks are in order." I stayed not a moment longer in his company and with a growled curse at him, turned on my heel. And I was pleased to admit that I felt good that I had dismissed Bennett rather harshly. The lad was neither nice nor callous, and it was his unbalance in personality that made me hate him and like him at the same time.

As Roland had promised, I was brought down to see the ship's doctor after the captain had dismissed us. I was led down to a small room, the surgeon's cockpit and was told to sit on a chair in the corner while pinning my dripping nose with my forefinger and thumb. Roland and Dobbin had accompanied me and stood beside me with brotherly friendship.

"Jack… Barlow," said a man, reading from the ship's log book and then looking at me. On the bridge of his sharp nose lay a pair of small spectacles, and behind them lay two brown eyes deeply set within his face.

He appeared to be not more than thirty years old, with a fairly lean build and relaxed aura about him. His brown hair was tied back behind his head, and calmly, he approached me, taking off his spectacles in the process. "Thirteen, correct?" he asked. I nodded.

"How did you come about that bloody nose and black eye of yours, Jack?" he asked, shifting his attention to a small cabinet on the wall and upon looking at it, picked out a small bottle closed with a wooden stopper.

"I disobeyed my commanding officer," I said wearily.

"I see. And your punishment was an immediate beating?" He left the cabinet and walked back to me, bending down a bit so that we were at eye level with each other. "Let me take a look at that nose of yours." I un-pinched my nose and more blood streamed out, spilling onto my hands and lap. "Mister Turner, take a few pieces of cloth from that jar on my desk, if you please," said the doctor as he placed a finger on my nose and firmly pressed down.

"Ow!"

"It's not broken," said the doctor, standing upright again. Roland returned with the pieces of cloth. "It is just a bit bruised. One more hit and you probably _would_ have a broken nose." I squirmed with guilt at the statement. If Bennett had not stopped Griffith, I would have had a broken nose instead of a bruised and bleeding one. "Here, just fill these into your nostrils until the bleeding stops and the swelling has subsided. When it has, come back and I'll re-examine your condition." I nodded and did as I was told.

"Thank you Doctor…"

"Doctor Cavanaugh," he finished, offering me his hand to shake. I took it and left him with a thankful squeeze of the hand, and gave one last grateful smile before exiting his office with Roland and Dobbin. It was only the third day on the ship and I was already the proud owner of a bloody nose and black eye.

The lads led me to the midshipmen's berth where they took their own respites and cursed Bennett's fickle actions. As much as I would have liked to join in, I didn't say anything on account of two things. Bennett had indeed tried to help me, although I refused his help, but he also covered up for Griffith, which was not at all very young Mister Bennett enjoyed deceiving people with his split personality, then Jack Barlow would defeat his lies one day and reveal in him the truth apart from the very convincing lies.

By mid-morning, my nose had finally stopped leaking, and instead of being runny with my own blood, it was now caked with it on the inside. My eye still suffered injury and was bloated and growing black around the edges. Griffith had beaten me good.

"When can I see Doctor Cavanaugh again?" I asked, my fingers poking my puffed-up eyelid in vague curiosity. "I think my eyebrow is torn." I knew that by the end of the voyage, I would be hideously scarred at the rate things were going. When next Adam would see me, he'd see not a face, but a mask of scars made by the bloody Griffith.

"No, it's not," denied Roland.

"Yes, it is, ye mome. Now, get me back to Doctor Cavanaugh."

"Why? Can't ye go yerself? Or do ye always need an escort?" He laughed at that, and I became all too aware of my womanly whining. Although Roland's way of addressing the problem to me was rather mocking, I got the point and left him to find Doctor Cavanaugh.

With fingers still keenly examining the gash on my right eyebrow, I proceeded to return to the surgeon's cockpit. The only problem was that my vision was unfortunately limited because of my black eye, and recollecting the exact image of the doctor's office and its location was a frustrating task to complete.

But suddenly, a strange shiver ran up my spine and the hairs on the back of my neck shot straight up in portrayal of a warning. Without even knowing it, my body had tensed and my hands were locked into balled fists, ready to strike, but clinging every so daintily to self-control.

"Just a cut," said a hideous voice. "If I wasn't moved to give the lad a beating, my fist would be clear of any open wound. Damn." Furtively, I inched backwards to listen to Griffith's conversation with some other lad more clearly.

"A few stitches you'll probably get. No more," replied a familiar voice. I gritted my teeth all the more. The lad accompanying the brute, Griffith, was none other than Bennett himself. I felt something wet ooze down the right side of my face, and I reached up to touch my stinging slash across my eyebrow. I huffed in rising disappointment at the blood that stained my pale fingertips. Hours after the bout, and Griffith's blows were still affecting me.

"Ha, look, Gareth," sneered Griffith from behind. I could even feel his taunting finger pointing at my back. "Looks like Jackaroe's been eavesdropping on our talk." That was enough, and I spun promptly on my heel to face the two middies.

At the sight of my enraged countenance, Griffith straightened his back in all too common superiority and grinned at me, his eyes eagerly shining with the same wickedness he showed me at Port Royal. "Were you, Jack?" he asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"It would be difficult not to," I hissed through my clenched teeth. "…Sir," I added, remembering my manners, though I found it odd that I even bothered to include a proper address to him.

Bennett stood behind Griffith, his eyes staring back at me in faint worry and uncertainty over the situation. He should have been worried. Griffith and I were about to engage in another war if things got out of hand.

"You gave my hand quite a cut," said Griffith, checking his injured limb in slight distaste.

"And you gave my face quite a black eye, bloody nose, and broken eyebrow, Mister Griffith," I replied contemptuously.

"You best see Doctor Cavanaugh then," he laughed, casually walking up to me with Bennett trailing not too far behind. "You look terrible."

He walked past me, bumping me on the shoulder in the process. Reluctantly, Bennett followed after him, narrowly missing hitting my shoulder as well. "But…" said Griffith suddenly, turning his head around and looking back at me. "Not now. I have to see Doctor Cavanaugh myself." My face was fixed rigidly into a scowl and my blood was pumping rapidly with the urge to rip him to shreds.

Pleased with my appalled reaction, he turned around, calling for Gareth Bennett to follow him. As Griffith strolled away, humming to himself, Bennett took a double look back at me, unsure who he should side with. "Grif-Griffith," he said, still looking at me with the same expressionless face.

"What?" he snapped, turning his head around in disgust.

"I'll see you after your visit with Doctor Cavanaugh. I have forgotten something I must do." Griffith snickered at him, laughing at his excuse.

"What do you possibly have to do at this hour, Bennett? Write a letter to your mum?" I expected Bennett to shy away and succumb to Griffith's all too powerful demands, but he stood his ground, returning a glare to his supposed ally.

"Exactly," responded Bennett before deserting Griffith in all his might and power. Griffith seemed absolutely insulted at Bennett's leave, and I had to smile at his evidently revolted face.

"Go on, then," barked Griffith, stomping away as well. The thud of his boots echoed in unaccustomed solitude and slowly vanished as Bennett and I stood, watching his once upright body slouch in defeat, and, shockingly, defeat obtained from his own friend.

"You are an idiot to do that," I said, as soon as Griffith was out of sight. "You are undeniably a fool if you think that doing that has made things any better, for it is obvious you have only made things worse." Bennett would waste no time accepting my say and merely cast it off, rebuking me in a manner I could not conquer.

"If you believe I abandoned Griffith for you, then you are clearly mistaken. I do indeed have an important matter to attend to, and so, if you can excuse me, I must leave your argument for another day." I could not rest content with his decision.

"No! You come back _right now_!" I ordered, pointing a finger at him. He turned around, baffled that I, a lower-than-dirt ship's boy, would even dare to order him about. But for some reason, he gave me his attention with a look questioning why. "I'm here to straighten a few things out, Bennett," I said, not looking him in the eye. "I know a lie when I hear one, for I've lied more than you probably will in your lifetime. You forsook Griffith because of me. You chose _my_ side, and I want to know why."

"Do you always need an explanation of things, Jack?" he returned curtly. "Or are you so desperate for answers that you demand before thinking anything through?" He gave an exacerbated sigh and cast his glance elsewhere, his brown eyebrows furrowed in either concentration or annoyance and his sleek nose tense with irritation.

"I asked you first, Bennett. I need an answer from you."

"I have none to give."

"Then why are you here? You thought you'd befriend a mere, weak little ship's boy, eh?" I questioned. "To try to support him while condemning him at the same time; be friend and foe concurrently. Well, I'll tell you this now, Bennett. Jack Barlow ain't looking for an enemy and brother at the same time. He's looking for a friend and _only_ a friend. What you'll be, I have no idea. But you can rest easily tonight to know that I will surely find out."


	7. Welcome, Mister Gareth Bennett

_Chapter Seven: Welcome, Mister Gareth Bennett_

**A** few feet from the steps was a small entrance to a small office cramped with cabinets full of medical tools, jars and bookcases. With caution, I approached, not feeling in much of a friendly mood after Bennett and I took to our separate ways.

"Doctor Cavanaugh," I said, knocking on the side of the entryway before actually stepping in.

"Yes? Come in, boy," he responded from his position at his desk.

"You said to come back when my nose has stopped bleedin', sir, and so I have." Seeing that he was occupied, I welcomed myself to sitting in the "patient's" chair, admiring the glass containers full of strange herbs and remedies, and the numerous rows of health books. "Did Mister Griffith stop by here?" I asked. I had assumed Doctor Cavanaugh to be busy with Griffith when I arrived, and so I was a tad bit unsuspecting of him just sitting down at his desk, scribbling down some notes.

"Yes, he did, Jack. Mentioned to me that you'd come. The lad came by to stitch up a small gash on his knuckle and was out almost as soon as he came in. But you, however…" He paused and looked up from his paper and stared back at me, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands onto his lap. "…have some explaining to do before I take a look at that eye of yours." I gulped, and as he stood up from his seat and approached me, he pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

"Explain what, sir?" I replied innocently.

"How you obtained such injuries," he stated simply as he began to gently poke my throbbing eye.

"I… dunno, sir," I said, as nobly as possible. Though, my attempt seemed too weak for my own satisfaction, and I told Doctor Cavanaugh the truth.

"Does the captain know?" he questioned, lifting his disappointed glare to scan his cabinets for some mode of treatment.

"No, sir," I replied. Feeling comfortable around him I added, "Will you tell him?" The doctor sighed as his hand reached to grab a jar of some unknown medicine on a shelf.

"Only if you request otherwise. Mister Griffith has solicited the incident to be kept secret between us, and all I need is your consent." He turned around to face me and I found that in his hand was a glass jar full of murky, greenish water, and most surprisingly, thick black worms wriggling within it. I stared at the jar with stretched eyelids and a slightly opened mouth.

"B-Before I answer, Doctor," I began, my eyes never leaving his hand as he pulled one of the black slugs from the jar and neared it to my face. "What is that?"

"A leech; it will diminish the amount of blood rushing towards your eye, and thus the swelling will desist," he replied as he carefully placed the cold wet worm on my right eyelid. I shuddered as the slimy creature pinched my skin with its small teeth and began to avidly draw away my blood.

"I think," I said, wincing as he placed a smaller leech on the other side of my eye, closer to the gash, "that I'd like this to be kept secret."

"Well then," said Doctor Cavanaugh, "what explanation will you have me tell the captain when he discovers you injuries?"

"I…"

For once, my brain could not conjure up some believable lie, and my tongue would not say anything either. My wily little mind had finally been forced to halt when the matter of Captain Carlisle finding out surfaced, and therefore my incompetence pressed Doctor Cavanaugh to think up a lie for me.

"During the drill this morning, while you were passing cartridges to the gunmen, a man inadvertently elbowed you in the face when he pulled the gun's lanyard to fire. You, too focused on your duty to be aware of your surroundings, immediately fell to the ground, only to be unintentionally pushed aside when Midshipman Griffith passed his orders for the gun crew to reload." Rubbing his chin, he looked back at me and arched his eyebrows, waiting for my approbation of the lie.

So pleased with his story that I was stunned, I readily accepted with a nod.

He smirked in response to my very relieved smile. "Wouldn't you agree, Jack?" he asked, doing a very good job of acting on my behalf.

"Y-Yes, sir," I replied, so happy with the support that I was stuttering.

His smirk, though, faded, and he looked at me in much the same way my daddy would have done whenever I was in trouble.

Taking off his spectacles and wiping his brow with the back of his hand, he brought his desk chair up to me and sat himself in it, still staring at me with the same utter chagrin. "You have but been on board for barely three days, Jack, and you have already proved your clear non-compliance to your commanding officers."

"I…I just don't like to take orders from a lad barely older than I am. …Makes me feel… insignificant."

"And you did not feel inferior before?" he inquired, highly skeptical of my remark. "The ship's book says that you are an orphan, and it surprises me that you are not accustomed to taking orders."

"I'm not," I replied resolutely. "I've taken care of myself all me lonesome life, and I don't need no bloody arrogant middy to beat me about."

Doctor Cavanaugh at last lifted his disappointment, only to have bafflement replace it on his visage.

"Well then," he began, standing up from his seat. "It appears as though you are stubborn as an ass, Jack." He grinned. "I am in need of a surgeon's assistant, one who will be willing to hand me tools and carry out small errands during operations. Would you prefer that profession to ship's boy?"

My one, good eye lit up and I jumped from my seat, and one of the leeches on my face lost its grip and plopped onto the floor.

"Yes!" I exclaimed. "I'd rather do that than peel damn potatoes for a whole afternoon."

"Good. I shall speak with Captain Carlisle about your request to be surgeon's assistant, mind you, _not_ surgeon's mate."

"Why just assistant?" I probed.

"You are not educated enough in physiology or medicine in order to actually work with me in operations." He paused and added, "You are keen around blood, correct?"

My brows furrowed in vague confusion.

"I deem so, sir."

"All right then."

He began to gather some papers from his desk and by the looks of it, he was leaving. "Stay here," he ordered. "And keep that leech on your eye for another hour or two." With a nod as a farewell, he scooped up the remaining papers and strolled out of his office.

_Surgeon's assistant,_ I thought. _Sounds better than ship's boy. So it should be better… I think…_

It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and I was on the first Dog Watch with Roland, Bennett and Andre. The officer of the watch was the ebullient Second Lieutenant Johnson, and he stood proudly beside the coxswain, his dark eyes centered on precise observations of the area.

Doctor Cavanaugh did indeed speak to Captain Carlisle of my request to be surgeon's assistant, and the captain had replied to him with an honest, "I shall think about it, Doctor," before dismissing him. When he came back to his office and found me sitting in the patient's chair, looking bored and restless and poking the squishy leech on my eye for fun, he sighed and told me the captain's reply, which I all, I had not made much of a worthy impression to him yet.

Doctor Cavanaugh then took care of my eye and stitched up the gash calmly and cleanly despite my yelps.

However, while I stood on the quarterdeck with Roland and Andre, my right eye was still refused vision because of its unremitting inflammation. When I came back to Roland, he tried his best not to laugh at my all too apparent injury, but the boy ended up chuckling anyway. He and Andre were in a deep discussion about the possible action waiting for them, and I, too occupied with surveying the cool, blue sea with my one eye, decided not to involve myself in their boyish talk.

There came a cheerful laugh from behind, belonging to Roland, which was followed by Andre's own delight. "You remember that song, Tim always used t'sing?" said Andre, sounding more of his happy self then some withdrawn hermit.

"Yes! The one about the mermaid!" cried Roland. "_Mermaid?" _I thought. Talk about nonexistent creatures made me turn around and I looked at Roland and Andre, who were eagerly trying to remember the mentioned song. "How did it go again?" asked Roland, rubbing his chin.

Andre didn't answer. All he did was jump up suddenly with excitement and sang in a very clear, but slightly off tune voice:

_Oh the ocean waves may roll,  
And the stormy winds may blow,  
While we poor sailors go skipping aloft  
And the land lubbers lay down below, below, below  
And the land lubbers lay down below._

_Then three times 'round went our gallant ship,  
And three times 'round went she,  
And the third time that she went 'round  
She sank to the bottom of the sea!_

I was moved to join in the hilarity of the song, considering it a dreadful course of bad luck for the ship in the song to have sunk. And, laughing, I clapped my hands as Andre did his little jig, with the other Idlers on Watch gathering around and cheering him on.

"Sailors!" came a vicious scowl.

Andre halted his hopping feet, I stopped my clapping, and the sailors dispersed like a group of blind mice as First Lieutenant Thorne intruded into our fun with a murderous look about him. "You are to be on watch! This is not your leisure time so do not ignore your duties for childish merriment. Mister Turner, with me. The rest of you get back to your stations!" Turning his head to the side, he yelled, "Mister Bennett!"

"Aye, sir," came the return call as Bennett left his spot in the rigging and quickly arrived to please the very steamed Lieutenant Thorne.

"You and Mister Turner are to stay on the quarterdeck until the Watch is over." He sent a fierce glare in mine and Andre's direction. "You know better than to idle about with the ship's boys," he muttered before hotly stomping off.

Obligated to his duty, Roland solemnly left our company to join Bennett, and as Lieutenant Thorne turned his back to us to return to his spot beside the wheel and a gentler Lieutenant Johnson, I sent a livid glare to his fake, white hair.

Someone nudged me in the side as I delivered the sign of disrespect to Thorne's back. "No use in glarin', mate," whispered Andre. "You'll get a floggin' for that."

"Oh, bollocks," I griped, crossing my arms over my chest. "I've sent plenty a glare in Griffith's direction, and I ain't got flogged yet."

"But he still beat you anyway," muttered Andre, his brown eyes looking at my sewed up eyebrow. "I'll race ya to the top o' the mainmast," he suggested, shrugging his shoulders. He must have sensed my irritation and decided to lighten up the environment.

"Shouldn' we be doin' our duty?" I asked.

"Oh, bollocks," he said, imitating me. "We'll still be able to keep watch up there."

"All right," I agreed, a scheme entering my head and bringing my loved smile to my face. "Let's go!" Without giving him any warning, but having fully warned my own self, I sped down the deck, headed for the ratlines to the mainmast.

"Hey!" cried Andre. "Foul! No fair!" I heard him thunder up behind me continuing to scream the indecency of me cheating and getting a head start, but I cared not.

Cackling like a mad witch, I leapt onto the ratlines and crawled my way up. I looked behind me and found Andre gaining progress, his superior nautical experience coming in quite handy. I though, would not give up without a fight.

I swiftly ascended up the lines, my one good eye focused on the topmost part of the mast. As my hands and feet securely stepped into each square hole in the rigging, I easily got used to the pattern and was not always sending looks of concern at my betraying and clumsy feet.

"Jack!" called Andre from below. "Bennett wants ta talk to ya!"

"Sure he does," I yelled in return. "I will not fall for such a fixed trick, Andre. Do you really expect me to believe that Bennett…" As I turned my head around to look back at him, he pointed a finger to the right. I traced the direction and sure enough, found Bennett and Roland looking up at us.

"You're lucky he intruded on our game," I snorted, all energy and excitement being drained from me as I prepared for some scolding lecture from Bennett. Sighing loudly through my nose, I climbed down and left Andre to reach the top of the mainmast first and win our race.

I hopped from the ratlines to the hard, wooden deck and calmly approached the quarterdeck where the two middies were waiting for me. "Sirs?" I asked as I made a halt but a few feet before them and positioned my feet together in fine, seaman discipline.

"You're amongst friends, Jack," said Roland. "Enough with the etiquette for a while. Bennett simply called you down to have a word with you." My one good eye immediately narrowed in on Bennett who stood expressionless beside Roland.

"I'm sure what he has to say can be said right here," I replied smartly. "After all, he's amongst friends."

He puffed up, taking in a large breath and exhaled noisily as his eyes locked on my own. If I weren't dressed as a man, I would have promptly marched up to him and slapped his face.

"Since you are so intent on having Roland participate in our clear dislike for each other, then I will acquiesce to your request," he returned tersely. Lifting his displeased stare, he faced Roland, determined to show me that he could and would tell Roland of our present argument.

"What's this about?" enquired Roland, his eyes shifting back and forth from me to Bennett.

"Bennett and I are on a bit of a… well…it's almost as bad as me with Griffith. We just can't seem to agree on anything," I said. Roland grinned, and I knew what he was thinking from his all too familiar smirk.

"Why are you doing this then? If ya hate one another's innards then leave each other the hell alone," advised Roland. Perhaps Bennett and I were too alike to agree on anything.

"Because I don't want another enemy!" we yelled simultaneously, and as soon as we heard the same words come from our mouths at the same moment, we whirred on each other, both our faces tight and unrelenting, and my mouth theoretically foaming with rage.

"I see…" yawned Roland. "Well then… I guess I'll just leave you two to work this out, eh? After all, I'm not the one under threat." Bennett's face twisted all the more and I only huffed as Roland treaded away to the other side of the quarterdeck and out of range of our voices.

"No one's gonna help us on this, Bennie," I said, calling him by an informal nickname just to peeve him. "Say your point and let me get back up to me spot at the mainmast. I don't care anymore. There will always be alliances, and well, I believe you are trying too hard to make sure you never get hurt on this ship. Isn't that right? Followin' in Griffith's dirty little steps. Ya don't know who half the lad is and you are tryin' to protect yourself by befriending simpletons like me."

"How would you even know that those are my honest intentions?" he countered. "Peace must be made or nothing will ever be accomplished. I need your compliance, Jack. Your rebellious attitude will not be tolerated by Captain Carlisle. I'm trying to help you. You don't know the half of Griffith that I know." That got me thinking, especially because it mentioned the captain and Griffith at the same time, the two men I did not want any further conflict with.

"Fine. Help me then. Just let me know when you are helping because sometimes I can't tell if you are protecting me or attacking me. You are very confusing, do you know that?"

"Well… now I do," he replied, sounding like more like the gentleman I pictured him to be. "So we have finally reached an agreement? A… treaty if you say?" He extended his arm for me to shake, and I eyed it suspiciously.

"Y-Yes," I said slowly, cautiously taking his hand. "And I believe I owe you my thanks. Doctor Cavanaugh said I would have had a broken nose if Griffith hit me one more time, so… yes, I guess I owe you then, Bennie." He winced at his horrid new nickname which I affectionately appointed to him for purposeful embarrassment.

"Please, Jack. I ask that you call me nothing but Bennett."

"All right, _Gareth_," I responded cheekily.

"Call me Bennett, Jack. _Bennett_. Not Gareth, and definitely _not_ Bennie," he replied firmly. I frowned and looked up at him, though by the looks of it, I believed that we had finally established just the ever-so-slight brotherhood between us.

"All right," I said, "… _Bennie_." I laughed and he responded with a shake of his head.

"If you insist on calling me that, then I insist on calling you Jack_ass_." My frown deepened.

"Oh, fine," I grumbled. "Call me Jackass and you'll have more than just Bennie as a name." I paused and added, "Perhaps I won't call ye Bennie. I'll dub ye… Benito!"


	8. Morning Watch

_Chapter Eight: Morning Watch_

**T**here was a shove on my right shoulder, and then another, and my sleeping mind shook them off gruffly. "Rise up, ya loafer," laughed Andre, pushing me all the harder to get up.

"All right, all right," I moaned, shooing him away with a wave of my arm. "I'll meet ya up on deck."

"Better make haste. Heard Captain's gonna be holdin' an inspection." With that, he left me to slowly rise from my hammock and don my boots and hat.

Yawning and stretching my arms as I sat up, I noticed that I felt something wet in my trousers, not to mention that I felt strangely bloated. Then it hit me like a rock on the side of my head. "Oh, dammit!" I muttered leaping up and turning around to check my rump for any stain. My dreaded bloody monthly visitor had arrived.

There was no red blotch on my backside, which was all due to the coarse and rather water resistant pirate trousers of mine. I knew though, that my undergarments would be stained, and so I hurriedly went to my sea bag, grabbed what I needed to treat my "condition," and scurried off to the head. I might have looked and acted like a man, but Mother Nature always seemed to catch up with me and remind me that I was, indeed, a woman.

With that taken care of, I went from the privy to the top deck and found the lads forming straight lines as the captain made his way across, his green eyes narrowed for precise examination. Hurriedly, I took my place beside Andre at the end of the line and he nudged me with his elbow. "You're late and he seen it. He'll have a word or two with you when he comes by. I'm sure of it." Only heeding half of what Andre said, I straightened my back and placed my feet together, with arms rigidly at my sides ready to deliver one swift salute as soon as Captain Carlisle made his inspection.

"Jack Barlow," said Captain Carlisle as he looked down at me with his very powerful stare. "Late, I assume?"

"Yes, sir," I answered, casting my head low out of respect.

"Seven weeks on sea under my command, and I have the dishonor of having you arrive tardy. I believe you are in need of reinforcement about the importance of being prompt, Barlow. Lieutenant Thorne," he said, still looking at me as I grew more disappointed at myself inside. "Bring Barlow down to my cabin where he shall wait until I return."

"Aye, sir," replied the white-wigged lieutenant as he broke me from the line and dragged me down below to the captain's quarters.

"Stand there, say not a word, touch not a thing," commanded Thorne as he pointed to a spot in front of Captain Carlisle's desk. The man apparently had been doing much writing, for his desk was not neat, as I expected it to be, but littered with papers and blots of ink everywhere.

"Make way for the captain," came a voice outside of the doors to the cabin and Thorne stepped forward and parted the doors as Captain Carlisle made his grand appearance with not a hint of pleasure or pride at my sight.

"The Forenoon Watch is yours, Thorne," was the first thing Captain Carlisle said as he entered. Then, turning to me, he said: "You are how old, Jack? Thirteen?"

"Aye, sir."

"Assistant to Doctor Cavanaugh, correct?"

"Aye, sir," I repeated.

"What else must I have you do, lad, to make you habituated to the regulations of my ship?" he questioned irritably. "Are you looking for a career as a seaman, or have you simply registered for no apparent reason? Honest answers, Jack." Shyly, I looked him in the eye, only to look down again. The man surely had his hold on power.

"I… I never mean to be disobedient, sir. I…" Refusing to hear me stutter my answer away, he quickly exposed his plan to help me.

"I believe your problem, Jack, is that you do not recognize your limits as a mere ship's boy and therefore expect to be respected when in truth, you deserve none. _Everyone _is above you, and under those circumstances, you must and _will_ comply with every order given to you. You are naïve and fairly inexperienced, with barely any nautical background, and if you are strictly dedicated to your duty, you shall have no further problems with me or the other officers," he stated firmly, his face tightened in the determination to change me from a free-spirited and disruptive boy to a civilized and dependable man.

"Aye, sir," I said again, bobbing my head in agreement.

"You will abandon your duties as doctor's assistant and resume your duties as a full-time ship's boy. Cavanaugh has been too lenient on you. I shall put you under the constant supervision of…" He paused, finally looking away from me and skimmed a few papers on his desk. "…Midshipman Griffith." My heart stopped. I still had the scar on my right eyebrow to prove that being under Griffith's control would be a microcosm of the war we were fighting in.

Captain Carlisle then shook his head as he rethought his order and to my relief, said, "Perhaps… Perhaps I shall put you under Midshipman Bennett." He paused in speculation. "Yes, yes. Young Mister Bennett is capable of coping with you."

"May I ask you to tell me any precise date when I will be able to return as surgeon's assistant?" I posed timidly.

"When I have seen improvement, then I will answer your question. You are dismissed."

I saluted to him before opening the door and walking back up on deck. Captain Carlisle was certainly not a merciless brute and was very considerate when deciding what to do with me. It was best though, not to befriend him any further, or I'd be forced to tell him about my true self unknowingly.

"Mister Bennett!" I hailed as I spotted him up in the rigging of the mizzenmast. His top-hatted head turned around and after a few looks around him, he finally averted his vision south and found me waving up at him.

Upon nearing him, he extended his arm to help me, which had become a habit of his, and I readily accepted the help as he pulled me up to sit amongst the rigging with him.

"Hullo, Bennie," I chimed as seated myself comfortably on the yardarm of the mizzen topmast.

"Greetings to you as well, Jack," he replied, with little enthusiasm. "Any reason in particular as to why you've come?" he asked, vaguely irritated in his tone.

"I'm not gonna be doctor's assistant anymore," I said proudly, which caused Bennett to quirk an eyebrow at me.

"I thought you appreciated your duty as Mister Cavanaugh's assistant. Why return to ship's boy?"

"Captain made me. Said I wasn't very much of a seaman yet… so he put me under your wing."

"Is that so?" remarked Bennett, amused.

"Aye. Captain said you're to show me the ways of a fine able-bodied sailor."

"It may be a bit more work for me, but at least you'll benefit," he consented. He sighed and took off his top hat and I asked if I could see it.

I placed it proudly on my head and turned to him for his opinion. "How does Midshipman Jack Barlow sound, eh, Bennie?" I kidded, uncurling my smile into a hard line on my face and tipping off the hat to him.

"Too soon to dream about that, Jack," replied Bennett, taking back his hat. "But I wouldn't be surprised if you achieved that title one day."

"There's always a possibility, Bennie. Always." I gave him a few pats on the shoulder before I left.

Andre and Roland were back to spending their musical selves appropriately during their leisure time. They were gathered amongst some of the other idlers who had some of their instruments out, playing various tunes that Roland, Andre and the other lads would try to sing to. "Jack!" greeted Roland, waving an arm at me. "Come join us, brother."

I walked in and the men made a gap in their circle of entertainment to include me. "Ya know any songs, lad?" asked one.

"Been on the sea for barely two months an' ya think I know a sea chanty. I ain't that good, boys." There was a weak laughter about them, and I was glad to say that they all seemed quite welcoming, save for one.

The cove who wasn't including himself in the merriment was a middle aged man of average height. He was not fat, nor skinny, but surely had some sort of layer of blubber around his abdomen, and he was very ruff about the face. His jaw and the area around his cracked lips were bristled with specs of wiry dark grey and black hair, and his nose was slightly flat, but short. In the middle of his brow were two permanent notches caused by old age and wrinkling skin. His eyebrows were scattered and thick and his eyes were gleaming with an eerie and vaguely intimidating darkness.

He was currently looking at me, a toothless grin on his grimy face and at once I felt uneasy and gradually scooted closer to where Roland and Andre stood.

"I know one," said Andre. "Hawley, ya know how t'play 'Dear Annie' on yer fiddle?"

"O'course, lad," replied a sailor, positioning his fiddle beneath his chin and scraping his bow against the strings.

As soon as Andre became accommodated to the beat and tune, his light feet began to dance away and his voice began to sing:

_A storm's a- brewin'  
The lines are a-breaking  
And I'm wishin' for God to save me soul.  
_'_Cause my feet are slippin', my limbs a-shaking  
Bring me back to Annie and me home._

_Oh, why is she weeping?  
Oh, where is she going?  
The ship 'derneath and Annie in the cold.  
For I have left my dear dainty Annie  
For the locker of dreaded Davy Jones._

Hawley stopped his fiddle, making the last note linger in the air, and Andre slowed his graceful steps to a stop and threw his arms up in the air. "Not bad, aye?" There came a deep chuckle of agreement among the men and amidst the levity of it all, I failed to take notice that the dirty, sly cove that was giving me looks, was _still_ giving me looks.

While the sailors were mostly occupied talking with Andre, I snatched Roland's attention and whispered, "That man over there keeps lookin' at me funny." I cautiously switched my eyes in the said man's direction and Roland followed the look with a suspicious squint.

"That's Lonan," replied Roland softly, knowing very well to keep our conversation concealed from other ears. "Lonny some call him. Don't know much about him other than he's a gunner. Don't know half of what he's like. Ask Andre. I'm sure he knows him better."

"I don't want to know him," I said bitterly. I sent a hidden glare in Lonan's direction, before breaking away from their circle of frivolity to find relaxation elsewhere. Sadly for me and for the other lads, the enemy had chosen to finally reveal herself at the exact moment I separated away from the crowd.

"Send word to he captain!" bellowed Bennett from his spot on the mizzen. He was already well on his way down the lines, and the deck was suddenly galvanized at possible battle.

Bennett jumped onto the top deck in a deep thud and asserted his authority as Senior Midshipman to organize the crew. "Beat to Quarters!" he yelled. "All Idlers below, and bring up the Starboard Watch!" Swiftly, with easily said orders, he marched up to the larboard bow of the ship, and as he passed by, Roland quickly followed after him, knowing where his duty lied. "Mister Turner!"

"Aye!" returned Roland.

"Inform the captain, if you please. Enemy sighting two points off the larboard beam. We're going to have to come about and turn around, or he'll hit us straight at our hull."

"Aye, sir" replied Roland. "What of the gunners?"

"I'll meet you down there as soon as fire has instigated. Jack," he called, on a different note.

"Yes, sir?" I asked, trudging up to him and Roland.

"Down below to Doctor Cavanaugh, _now_."

I nodded repeatedly before spinning around and sprinting to Doctor Cavanaugh's cockpit.

"Doctor!" I called, winding my way through the constant bustling of gunners to and fro across the gunroom.

I went further down to the deck below and found Doctor Cavanaugh hurriedly setting up his operating room in the surgeon's cockpit. There was a long, dark table set in the middle, its surface stained with the muck of dried blood. "Quickly, Jack. Retrieve my tools," he demanded.

I scooped up the bundle of operating tools cleanly wrapped in a cloth and spilled them on the table.

"What you have learned will be tested today, Jack," said Cavanaugh shakily, fearing that I'd fail him somehow.

"I know," I replied. "But don't worry, Doctor. We'll do fine."

Shortly after, there came a distant rumble, its angry roar growing louder until it was muffled in the side of the ship. The boat rocked a bit from the blast, creaking as it adjusted to the new wound in its side. The eyes that wandered in fear and painful anxiety only grew in amount amid the idlers huddled on the lower deck with Doctor Cavanaugh and me.

"Why have we not returned fire?" I asked quietly.

"Most likely out of range, Jack," replied Cavanaugh.

"Well, if the enemy can hit us but we can't hit them back, then why the hell did we even Beat to Quarters? They're gonna sink us anyway."

"Naval tactic, Jack. The _Resolve_ will not sink. She will rake fire."

"Rake fire?"

"He will aim for the bow of our enemy. That is why we are turning." I left the subject off at that, too green to understand anymore of what he could possible say.

The operating table was sliding as the ship made another sharp turn.

"Jack!" grimaced Doctor Cavanaugh as he gripped one side of the table, and the patient on it, tightly to keep it from moving. I grabbed the other end, my sleeves rolled up and my arms covered in blood.

"It's holding, Doctor. Continue, I'll make sure the table don't move." I winced as he resumed cutting away at a sailor's wound, and I shuddered as the sailor's eyes were popping from gasps of pain. Blood dribbled from the corners of his mouth, creating a pool of red beneath his sweating head.

"Hold him down, Jack," ordered Cavanaugh, struggling to operate as his patient thrashed about in extreme suffering. I pressed harder on the man's poor shoulders, but in my mind I was saying, "I can't. I can't. I can't." I refused to look at Doctor Cavanaugh as he inserted tool after tool in the sailor's abdomen to keep him from bleeding. Nothing seemed to be working.

Another jumble of feet thumped down to the surgeon's cockpit and in walked Roland, supporting a wounded Andre. My head shot up at their sight and I would have abandoned my post if the sailor had not suddenly choked on his own blood and spewed the warm crimson bile onto my quivering arms. Some of it splattered onto my face, some into my mouth, and I swallowed hard, trying to keep my own self from vomiting.

"Sand, Jack," said Cavanaugh urgently. "More sand." Stupidly, I took a quick step forward and slipped on the blood flooding the area around the table, and now covered in the mess, I hurried to get the sack of sand and pour it around the operating table for more friction.

When I returned, already bending low to scatter the coarse salty grain, I realized Cavanaugh had ceased his working hands and stood beside his patient, bloodied hands being wiped on his soiled apron. The screams of the patient were gone and his body lied limply on the brittle wooden table, his eyes wide and pale as his life was drained away.

"Jack," sighed Doctor Cavanaugh. "Get him off the table and set him beside the other dead. Newton, let me take a look at that head of yours." Andre made his way through the moaning throng of the treated.

As Andre wearily collapsed onto the table, his hands pressed to the right side of his head, I set to dragging the sailor's body to the growing pile of the deceased, and at the sight of their open but blank eyes and flaccid limbs, I felt my eyes sting.

"Depression of the skull," said Doctor Cavanaugh as he pried Andre's hands away from his bleeding head. "Minor. I should be able to fix it." He sent me off to get a bandage and carefully wrapped Andre's broken skull in the cloth.

"I can't see, Doctor," said Andre feebly as Cavanaugh urged him to get up and sit down with the other wounded lads. "I can't—" As soon as he stood on his feet, he swayed to the side and knocked into me. I reacted quickly and managed to catch him before he bumped his head again on the ground and pulled him to the other lads.

No more shots were fired. The endless thunder erupting in the space between two ships had finally faded, and the _Resolve_ had come out of the battle neither victorious nor defeated, for our enemy had taken refuge in a strange phenomenon of mid-morning fog.

Nearly a quarter of the crew was jammed in the surgeon's cockpit, moaning, bleeding, dying, and aching. I leaned against a wall, exhausted and dour from what appeared to be an enormous debacle in my eyes.

My arms were crusted with lines of blood that were not my own, and my clothes would forever be tainted pink from the life-sustaining liquid that squirted and streamed out of each sailor's wound. Even when Roland had come down again and informed us that there was a cease fire and unsure victory, I still shook from the horrors of operation. When Cavanaugh was impelled to cut open another patient for the umpteenth time, I could not stand it anymore and I abandoned him to vomit into an empty barrel. And while I retched, I took the time to finally shed the tears I kept inside, knowing that my femininity would be safely veiled through my gagging coughs.

The battle might have been over, but there was still so much to clean up, and to add to my enervated and depressed self, I had to worry over Andre's condition, bold enough to wonder if he would join the pile of the dead.

"Jack," said a voice.

I lay in my hammock with my head resting on the back of my hand, and I stared at the wooden floor, scarcely enjoying the gentle swaying of my hammock as it moved in unison with the wobble of our injured boat. I had cleaned my arms and face from any blood and grime, but my clothes were still stained, and I bothered not to wash them for my own sake. I had no other clothes to wear but the ones I had on my back at that moment, and therefore I'd have nothing to wear to conceal my body while I waited for my attire to dry. "Jack," it repeated.

"Roland," I sighed, shifting in my hammock so that I faced him. He looked pretty grieved himself. His hair was clumping in the evident weeks of dirt and grime, and on his face were a few scratches, not many, but he still got some physical injury from the battle, if not more.

He sat on the opposite end of my hammock. Taking off his hat, he looked at me, giving me his full attention, and I finally felt comfortable enough to speak. "Roland, was it like this when you were on the _Paramount_? I-I-I just can't..." I choked on my own words.

"Jack," he began, his eyes wandering off to find the right words. "Easy there, brother. I'm sorry you had to be right beside the dying. You'd think that with men's lust for adventure, we'd have enough valor to never be discouraged, never feel defeat, but to be honest, after the first battle, me and my mates were silent for days. We saw everything differently."

"But I don't like how we do so much for nothing," I croaked, feeling my eyes flooding again. "You think you're in control but everything slips out of your grasp like sand through your fingers. I feel bad that I couldn't have helped save more men, Roland. They died like flies in that room."

"Sacrifices are needed, Jack. Every man who boards a man-of-war has vowed to fight for indomitable Britannia until he dies, and that is exactly what these men have done. We don't have control over anything, Jack. Trust me. I thought the same thing; and as life resumed, as the more experienced sailors tossed away the terrors of a sea battle and went on with their lives, I realized that certain things will always happen and it is up to us whether to embrace what has come our way or continue to equivocate it." He patted me reassuringly on the shoulder, and I had become so overwhelmed by everything that I had to excuse myself from his company. I couldn't allow my tears to be seen by all of the ailing men in the area. It would have been too bizarre for their eyes.

By the time I had recovered from my sobs, I returned to my hammock and found Bennett lingering about the area, speaking with another sailor. He seemed to notice me come forward and issued his greetings cautiously. He must have noticed that I looked a wreck.

"Greetings Jack," he said. "Well done today."

"I suppose so," I replied glumly, looking at the ground. It was obvious that I was not in any mood to be talking, and yet, like always, he persisted. However, this time, he wasn't uncommonly forward.

"War's not something easy to get accustomed to," he began. "I was twelve when I killed a man and fired a gun for the first time. And when you come out of battle rather unscarred, you begin to feel very fortunate."_Then you must feel like the luckiest man in the world, aye?_ was what I wanted to say, but I couldn't.

"Here," he started, sitting himself down on a nearby crate and shrugging. I only looked at him with a befuddled expression, and he eased my terrors about war with a brief show of some scars on his arms and the stories behind them. After growing comfortable speaking to him about such things, we switched topics and I gently began to find myself asking about his personal life.

"Ya have family up in England?" I questioned..

"Yes," he said simply.

"What do you do up in England when you're there?"

"I haven't been home since I was twelve, Jack. Besides, I really have no intent on returning to Portsmouth."

"But yer family's there. Why'd you want to—"

"As far as I see it, Jack, I have no family in Portsmouth. My father cares more about his damned slave ships than his own children. My mother has left him for another man and to that man she has given six children, compared to my father's disgraceful three," he huffed. "My older brother, Charles, is a first lieutenant in the Navy and is stationed in the Mediterranean. He is wed to a fine young woman and he has deserted my father's discreditable business for a more civilized life on the sea. He has been my only worthy exemplar and it is my wish to follow in his footsteps."

"You said there were three of you. Who is the other?"

"My younger brother. Charles is twenty seven and my younger brother is the offspring of my father and his new wife of six years. His name is Maddox, and he is the sole pride and joy of my father, for he knows that he is the only one left to learn the loathsome trade of slavery. Both Charles and I made it clear as soon as we could think for ourselves that our father's trade was bloody, murderous and barbaric."

"How old is your father then, Bennie?" I questioned. If his brother was twenty seven and he was seventeen and Maddox was six, then how old could their father possible be?

"He is forty seven," answered Bennett, not the least bit ashamed of his father's age. "Let the old man rot. It is strange that he has remarried to a woman younger than Charles."

"My God, that is frightening," I gasped. "How old is your new mum?"

"Twenty five. She was married to him when she was nineteen and he, forty one." He laughed mockingly at the fact. "Funny world we all live in. To have a mother younger than your brother. It is very strange indeed."

"What would you do in Portsmouth? I know you wouldn't go to taverns and get as drunk as Davy's sow, but still… you must have found someway to occupy yourself."

"I read, wrote, played my instruments. At times, I'd go to festivities. I'd play cricket whenever Charles came home."

"Cricket?"

"Yes. Have you not heard of it? Quite popular in England. I'm not sure over here."

"Never heard of it," I replied, wrinkling my eyebrows at the thought. "But you said you played instruments. Did ya take lessons? What do you play?" I asked eagerly.

"I play violin, flute… some piano, and the like," he replied, not the least bit proud of what he could do. The lad dispirited himself too much. For all the times he failed to give himself credit, I'd flatter him until he did. "I had a friend who new more than I did and came by often to teach me. He was from the North, a Scot, but very talented." At the mentioning of a Scotsman, my eyes lit up and I stood up eagerly and faced him.

"What was the Scotsman's name? Ian?" I demanded. Bennett was bewildered at my sudden excitement and he grinned out of the rather uncomfortable situation, though I had a feeling that any time I was too excited was uncomfortable for him.

"My God, how do you know that?" he exclaimed, his face contracting in an odd mix of amazement and perplexity.

"I know him! He's the husband of one of my friend's sisters! Heard him playin' his flute last Christmas and… and…"

"He was in Port Royal during the Christmas season, Jack. He told me he had celebrated it with his wife's family, the Lockes."

"And the Turners!" Realizing the mistake I had just made, I clasped my mouth shut with both my hands and backed away from him, certain that he would question how I knew Ian was in Port Royal if I had never been there myself.

Bennett approached me slowly, understanding my sudden desire to get away from him as soon as possible. His slow, steady steps though only made my feet stick to the ground where I was trapped with a clueless mind. "Jack, I thought you said—"

"Forget what I said!" I shouted through my hands.

"No, Jack. I am certain you have told me that you have never been to Port Royal and I doubt that by your behavior that Roland could have ever had the time to inform you about Ian." He paused right in front of me and I grew weak at being so close to him. "Jack, why have you been lying?"

"I haven't!" I squealed behind my clasped hands.

"I think you are," said Bennett, reaching up to my face. Panic struck me because I was so afraid of him getting me to spill out the truth. As soon as his fingers grabbed hold of my hand, trying to move it away from my mouth, I stumbled backwards and fell over a crate, landing hard on my back.

"Dammit!" I grumbled. On instinct, Bennett reached down to help me, but for once, I declined his help. "I'm fine," I said, dusting myself off. "I think I'll go get myself some dinner. Goodbye, Bennie," I spat hurriedly before running off to elude Gareth Bennett's sure to be baffled face.


	9. Repairs and Additions

_Chapter Nine: Repairs and Additions_

**T**he next morning, Captain Carlisle, his lieutenants, the sailing master and carpenter all set to work on the ship's repairs. The mizzen topgallant was broken, as was the topmast of the fore. Thankfully, Mister Devaney, the sailing master, assured us all that they could be fixed, as long as we were able to find a port and a fresh supply of wood. Mister Ashman also set to work on repairs, and soon, the captain had all of us knocking on wood with hammers and chisels and other tools.

We began repairs while we were still out at sea, but Roland had informed me that Captain Carlisle would dock the ship as soon as we neared land. He said we were off the coast of Spain's vice royalty of New Grenada and that we'd seek cover for the repairs on its shoals. Roland was rather excited to reach land, and I asked him why as I worked up in the rigging of the mainmast, fixing the lines. I sat, my legs wrapped around the long yardarm, trying to tie a knot together, with Roland sitting opposite me in the same position.

"If we step on land, well, that means more leisure time. Plus, it'll give us the chance to trade with some of the natives."

"But don't they speak Spanish?" I asked, looking up from my unsuccessful knot. It wound up being a ball of tied nonsense than an actual knot.

"Yes, but the Captain knows it… I think. If not, well, we can just hope they speak English." Without my permission, he reached forward and grabbed the ropes I was trying to tie and easily knotted them together in a secure bond.

"How do you do that?" I said, snatching it back from him and attempting to undo it so I could make another futile attempt.

"I dunno. I just watched other lads and soon knew it." I stopped fiddling with the ropes and shoved it back to him.

"Do it again," I ordered. Shrugging, he easily formed the knot again, and again, my eyes could not figure out what he was doing. "Oh, forget it. I'll just be the stupid little ship's boy all me life on this ship." Roland laughed and began to get up and climb down the rigging.

"Where ya going?" I called.

"Eh, I think I'll see what Dobbin is up to. Maybe we'll be some of the first to be sent down on a boat to the land. I hope we do."

"Can I come?"

"Your duty is up in the rigging, Jack," he said, his rather pompous midshipman attitude coming out again. In very crudely spoken Spanish he said, "_Adios, mi amigo!_"

There were also a couple of broken seams across the larboard side of the ship, but Mister Ashman was able to take care of the holes easily and our main focus at the moment, was to fix the sails, masts and rigging that all went amiss in the constant firing from the day before. The French had the brilliant naval tactic of firing on the up roll, meaning that they would aim for our mainmast, sails and rigging, thus making us an immobile ship. Our hull might have been fine, but our masts were cracked, our lines were tangled in an impossible clutter, and our sails were full of holes.

Bored with the constant _tap, tap_, and _tick, tick_ of hammers on wood, I began to hum to myself. It was no particular tune, but I deemed that was how many sea chanties began: as simple tunes seeking for words. I realized though, that there was no need for me to try and make my own sea chanty. My mind knew only one song any bit close to life on the sea.

_We extort, we pilfer we filch and sack  
__Drink up me hearties, yo ho  
__Maraud and embezzle and even high-jack  
__Drink up me hearties yo ho_

_Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a pir—_

"Would ya stop yer piratical and disloyal singing of the British Navy and get down to the deck?" said Dobbin, as he grabbed hold of the yard and beckoned me to go down.

"It was just a bit of fun, Dob," I returned. "It's not like I'll desert the Navy and go off an' be a pirate." I smiled inside at the lie. As soon as I knew where Jack was, it would be farewell to the lovely _Resolve_.

"Of course. Knowin' you, I doubt it," he retorted as he led the way down the lines to the quarterdeck.

"Why are you callin' for me anyway?" I asked, almost stepping on his hand as I moved down.

"Are you blind, Jack? Land ahoy, barely a mile distant." I stopped halfway down the ratlines and looked to the bow of the ship. Sure enough, there was a patch of bright green sitting on the horizon.

"Is the captain recruiting who's gonna take the first boat to shore?" I asked, my eyes still fixed on the approaching island.

"Aye. I wanna get down there first. I hope there's clean water. We stink like hell."

"All too well," I replied.

As our feet landed on the floor of the deck, we saw Captain Carlisle and Second Lieutenant Johnson marching primly to the starboard side of the ship where the bosun and his crew were lowering a few boats onto the water.

"Mister Lester, Barlow," called Captain Carlisle.

"Aye, sir?" said Dobbin and I simultaneously. Briskly, we hurried towards him and saluted.

"You are to be part of the landing party which will begin camp on shore and assure us that we are welcome there. You shall be under the supervision of Midshipman Griffith and Midshipman Bennett. Follow their orders." We followed his instructions posthaste and exited down a rope ladder to the small cutter waiting for us. In there already sat Bennett and Griffith, and unknowingly, Dobbin and I sat on the opposite side of the boat, as far from Griffith and sadly, Bennett, as possible.

Because I was even cursed with more bad luck, the dirty cad, Lonan, was part of our landing party and hobbled down the ladder and plunked into the boat, causing it to shake considerably.

"Blast, can you get any heavier, man?" snorted Griffith as he tried to steady himself in his seat. Lonan didn't reply, he being a lowly gunner and Griffith being a middy. I could hear his muffled curses though.

"Jack," said Bennett, his voice pulling me away from thinking about the filthy man. "Move further right to balance the boat."

I did as I was told and stood up and then sat myself down, a larger space between Dobbin and me, and a smaller one between me and Bennett. I was stupid to think Bennett was done with his orders, for he then told Lonan to sit in the space between Dobbin and me to balance out the weight. I had difficulty breathing after that.

Lonan's grizzly and ruff skin brushed against my arm as he sat himself down, the boat wobbling a bit again, but not as much as before. I moved all the farther away from him, which wasn't very far because I would have run into Bennett, and that would have made me look like a fairy. It was better to suffer sitting next to the stinking Lonan than to be branded as the fairy of the ship for the rest of the voyage.

A deep rumbling noise came from Lonan's throat and I recognized that he was chuckling to himself. My eyelid twitched and I turned my head away in disgust. The small space between Bennett and me was sealed with a box of supplies in case one of us got injured. Lonan was breathing noisily through his sunburned nose and his eyes were squinting as the sun poured down on us. Griffith gave the order for the rowers to start pulling us towards the land and I had the desire to abandon ship and swim all the way to the island instead of sitting in the awful company of Lonan and Griffith.

I watched the _Resolve_ grow smaller as we rowed ahead of them to the advancing isle. The air about us was insanely silent and the only sound I did hear was Lonan's dog-like breathing and the grunts of the men who rowed.

"Dear God, may this all be over soon," I mumbled to myself. Abruptly, I felt something dig into my side and I knew exactly who it was and I darted to my right so quickly, that I pushed the supply-kit out of the way and rammed into Bennett.

"What the hell was that about?" squawked Griffith.

Ignoring his sure to be appalled face, I nervously got up and picked up the supply kit and set it in the space between Lonan and me, leaving me safely beside Bennett. I sent a swift look at Lonan and found the bastard grinning, his decayed, yellow teeth giving off an all too apparent stench.

"Are you all right, Jack?" asked Bennett, scooting a bit away from me. _Wonderful, Astrid. You just took another step forward to proving yourself a fairy._

"Yes, yes, fine," I said quickly. "Thought I felt… a twang in my back. Yes, a twang." Both he and Griffith looked at me with baffled and vaguely disgusted faces. I decided not to press the matter further and spoke not a word until we had reached shore.

As the bottom of our boat scraped against the sand barge and halted in the dry, white shore, we found a strange welcome from a group of natives. Some bore what seemed to be offerings, others, mainly the women, were dressed in a rather sad-looking array of old, torn English dresses in an attempt to attract the tastes of British men.

"_Hola_," cried Griffith.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing at his horrible accent. Even the natives laughed as he spoke.

"_Me llamo Señor Griffith. Soy de Britannia y el barco se llama el _Resolve_. Estes personas son mis compañeros_," he said, pointing a finger at us as we leapt onto the sand. "_Vosotros hablaís inglés?_"

"_Si, señor_," replied one of the natives. "_Mi hija habla inglés. Consuela. Vaya, niña_." A young girl ran forward and I saw an all too familiar smile on Griffith's face surface.

"_Bienvenido, señor de Britannia_. We have food and drink for your people and captain. Is possible to trade? We much to give." It was definite that Griffith was no longer interested in the needs of his captain or his ship, and he smirked and kissed the back of he girl's hand. She laughed awkwardly and Griffith straightened his back and turned back to us, pleased that he had charmed yet another woman.

"I believe there is no need to persuade them to help us. They have already offered to trade and have much to give us, I am sure, because of this beautiful young woman right here."

The girl giggled again, having understood English, and Dobbin sent his usual nudge to my side and whispered, "Just you watch. Tonight he'll bring that lass off to his tent and fuck her." I was a bit revolted at Dobbin's use of vocabulary. I'd prefer him to say that Griffith would bring the girl to his tent and _bed_ her instead of the other word. I cursed, but I did not curse like _that._

But, not wanting to seem like a mother, I agreed with him. "The bastard'll prolly leave her with child and then never come back. Hence a wife in every port," I murmured.

Seeing that our small landing party had dispersed and scattered about the island, trying to trade with the tan-skinned natives but failing terribly because of their limited Spanish, I decided to find Bennie and ask for permission to wander about and explore the place.

Poor Bennie was forced to take control of our expedition on account of the fact that Griffith was merrily charming our only Spanish translator. The girl was most likely my age with dark hair, tanned skin and a timorous smile. She was very small and dainty, perfect for a man like Griffith to easily seduce. I was disgusted with the whole ordeal and knew I'd never look at a man the same way again.

"Bennett!" I hailed, walking up to him. My clothes were still dried and stiff from blood since the battle and I needed to find fresh water to finally clean them.

"Greetings, Jack. Would you mind helping me?"

"No, but I have a question first."

"Proceed," he replied a bit agitatedly, taking off his coat and sitting on the sand. He seemed mighty stressed over something.

"I was wonderin' if you'd allow me to explore the island a bit. It'd be good to have someone who knows the place and speaks English if we are gonna re-supply properly."

"That's what Miss Consuela is for," said Bennett, not at all happy.

"Well, currently, she don't seem too interested in helpin' us. She's interested in Griffith."

"Why am I not surprised? The first thing Griffith ever does when he comes to port is look for women. After being on a ship for barely two months he is already eager for a woman's touch, while I'm left here to do the duty assigned to him."

"Why not tell Captain Carlisle about it then?"

"Griffith would beat me until I was dead." He lied down on the sand and positioned his arms behind his head. His blue eyes stared up at the strikingly clear, indigo sky and I looked at him, suddenly feeling… odd. With Bennett, I felt at ease, anxious but relaxed; cold, but hot. I took it that his split emotions were beginning to affect me.

"Will you let me explore?" I asked, remembering why I came to him in the first place.

"Go ahead. The _Resolve_ will weigh anchor soon anyway. There's naught to do but wander about. Go ahead, Jack."

"Thank ye, mate," I said, patting his shoulder.

I ran quickly from the white sand beach to the humid trap of the tropical forests and ventured deeper in the mess of shrub and vines, sharpening my hearing for any trace of fresh water. My forehead began to drip with salty, pungent perspiration which I tasted whenever I licked my dry lips.

Exhausted from the heat, I began to whack uselessly at my exposed skin, where mosquitoes and other vermin were gleefully welcoming themselves to sucking my blood. My trousers were sticking to my legs and my boots were practically soaked from my damp feet. My breathing grew deeper as the heat began to control me and at last, I decided to take a rest from my exploration of the island and sat amongst the tropical plants and flowers.

I took off my boots and rolled up my trousers to my knees and then took off my vest. I was smart enough to keep my shirt on, for without it, my womanly physique would have been more apparent. I rolled up my sleeves, gathered my belongings and was soon off again.

My aimless wandering and my impaired sense of direction led me to the other side of the island, to a bare sandy beach that faced the tame blue ocean. Moaning because I had not found fresh water yet, I collapsed onto the sand, heaving a sigh. "My God, I do not think it has ever been any hotter," I murmured. The salty grain stuck easily to my clammy face and I got up wearily and trudged alongside the beach, still hopelessly searching for a proper bathing place.

The roar of the foaming waves breaking on the beach brought some sort of relaxation, but I was aching to find fresh water to dive into. All I could do at that moment was let the waves wash over my feet as I walked into them, only to drift back to shore. I figured I was still too much of a landlubber.

Stumbling really nowhere, my ears suddenly twitched at the beautiful sound of trickling water amidst the rumble of the waves. Filled with unstoppable joy, I followed the sound and soon found a lagoon deep into the land, but still fairly close to the beach. I crouched down and dipped my hands in the water, and it was refreshingly cool. Sighing and breathing in deeply, I took a few steps back and then jumped up and plunged into the water.

When I surfaced, pushing my wet hair back with my hand, I found the interested by slightly confused visages of Dobbin and Roland peering at me from the dry shore. "Hullo, Jack," said Roland. "Ya find this place and didn't tell us about it?" he joked.

"I found it less than a minute ago, and finding you two here tells me you were following me all this while."

"Yep. When the _Resolve_ weighed anchor, I met up with Roland and he was asking where you was, so we asked Bennett, and he said you ran off somewhere. And here you are."

"Why am I not happy with you two being here?"

"Because you are about to tell Dobbin who you really are, Jack," said Roland seriously as I began to step out of the water.

"What?" I questioned, wondering why on earth he was telling me to tell Dobbin who Jack Barlow really was. "Why would I do…" Roland pointed to my body, and I realized that with my clothes dripping with water, it stuck to my frame and revealed my small waist. "Damn you, Roland," I muttered, speaking normally for once. Dobbin stood, gawking at me and my lighter voice, his jaw dropping.

"Go on, tell him," said Roland. With a weak nod of agreement, I faced Dobbin and walked up to him, laying a hand on his stiff shoulder.

"Dobbin, I am not a man, as you can tell. I'm a woman, and my name's not Jack. You met me already. I'm Astrid," I said clearly and slowly, to give some leeway for the shock and screams about to come from Dobbin's mouth.

"Are you bloody serious?" he shouted. "How? When? What? Why!" I shushed him with a slap on his face and told him why I was out to sea: to look for Jack.

"Now, stop looking at me like that," I said, growing uncomfortable with the dead face he was giving me. He still stared at me in disbelief, but he knew it was the truth, hopefully.

"But… But… But… you're Adam's lass? And … and… y-you're h-here… I think… Oh, God, I told ye stuff about…" he stuttered, looking at his hands for some answer instead of looking at me.

"Lookie here, Dobbin," I said, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. "Ya can't tell a bloody soul about who I really am. Griffith's here and, well, you know what happened back in Port Royal. Nobody else's gonna know, all right? Unless Roland or I find it fit to. Savvy?"

"Y-Yes. I won't tell. But… if…If you _are_ caught, they're going to hang you."

"That's why I need you to shut up about it and call me Jack forever and ever. And don't treat me differently 'cause you know I'm a lady. And if it takes you a while to get it in your head, then stay away from me, all right? Damn, it's so bloody difficult to act like a man." I left Dobbin to ponder over the shocking bit of news and asked Roland if he would tighten the cloth around my chest, for I feared it was coming loose and therefore revealing my girlish appearance.

Reluctantly, he did so, and for the sake of decency, Dobbin looked away. Of course, I never revealed anything to Roland or Dobbin, except maybe for my bare back, but nothing other than that. I was not so trusting as to let anything else be seen. "Is that tight enough?" moaned Roland as he pulled on the two ends of the cloth as he knotted them together.

"Yes," I wheezed, feeling my poor heart getting squeezed. "That's good."

"Good. Now, Captain says we're to stay here for about a week until the ship is in better shape. Until then there will be the daily routine of getting up, heading back to the ship for four hours to do some work, have dinner, then leisure, then back to the ship for another four hours and then sleep."

"Such joy fills me," I mocked. "Can I borrow some of yer clothes, Roland?"

"Not my middy uniform," he said firmly.

"Then give me your normal clothes. I need to wash the blood off of mine," I ordered.

"All right. I'll be back. Dobbin, keep her—I mean him, company."

As Roland's figure shrank in the distance, Dobbin sat his bum on the sand beside the water, running a hand briskly through his hair, which was accompanied by a few mutters and moans. I remained in my spot, still dripping from my swim and stared at the poor lad. He must have thought me quite a heartless wench to disguise myself as a man and fooling him. And if there was one thing I knew about men, it was that they didn't like being made sport of.

I squeezed the water from my hair and timidly approached Dobbin, not speaking a word, but just letting him murmur his complaints to his heart's content. When he quieted a bit, I found it safe to sit beside him, but he only got up and walked away, sitting himself farther away from me. I shook my head.

"Ye know, ye can run away from me, Dobbin, as much as ye want, but I'll always follow… ye miserable cad." And to prove my point, I got up and was walking towards him again when he got up and turned to me, his brow creased with irritation.

"You never know when to stop, do you, Astrid?" he growled, and he sat on the ground again and I shrugged. The lad was right.

"All right, Dobbin. Ye can go think to yerself in that little bubble o' yours and I'll just wait for Roland to come back." He looked back at me, his face a bit softer, but the fury still present in his eyes.

His mouth opened, seeming to say something, but it never came out, and with a huff, he swerved his head back around and hunched his shoulders.

By the time Roland returned, Dobbin still hadn't said anything to me, but while I was dressing into Roland's clothes, safely hidden in the tropical shrubbery, I heard him say, "I was wondering why you was such a pretty lad." And I laughed.


	10. Cricket

_Chapter Ten: Cricket_

**B**y early evening, our brief settlements on the island were prepared, and on the shore, but not too close to the water because of the tide, sat a few scattered tents and fires. Several of the sailors would wind up sleeping outside, and a third of the crew would be on the ship monitoring it through the night and making sure we did not get attacked at some unsightly hour.

Thankfully, Roland, Dobbin, Bennie and me were all given the wonderful positions on the island and had the night completely to ourselves. Griffith, after Captain Carlisle found him wooing Consuela instead of asking her what was proper for them to trade, was stationed on the ship and all of us were quite relieved with Griffith's departure.

The fire cracked and spit as us lads sat around it on dead logs we found around the jungle. I sat next to Roland on one log. On Roland's other side sat Dobbin, and on a separate log sat Bennett, all by his onesies. I wanted to sit next to him, but Roland would surely think I was in alliance with him (which I was), but then that would have led to him believing I was in alliance with Griffith as well.

We were silent around the dancing fire, most of us staring at its twirling flames as it sent tiny glowing sparks towards our feet. Mine were still bare because I refused to put on my boots and have my feet reek with sweat again, and I became aware of my rather dirty toenails and calloused soles. _So much for being a lady_.

Dobbin had recovered somewhat from my confession, but he still could not look at me normally. I took it that it was because I convinced him I was a lad with all my cursing, rebelling and loud-mouthed persona. Not in a million years would he have thought a woman would do such a thing.

Andre didn't know who I really was, but I was sure I'd tell him someday. Bennie too, but he had to prove he was truly trustworthy before I told him anything. His camaraderie with Griffith made it nearly impossible for me to reveal any secret of mine to him, but he knew Jack Barlow was a big liar. And he'd continue to discover my lies until we reached a point were I'd be compelled to tell him the truth.

"Any of ye got any stories to tell?" I asked glumly, extremely bored with our strange silence. Even Roland wasn't saying much and that was even stranger.

I looked from face to face. Dobbin wasn't even looking at me (for obvious reasons) and Bennie looked awkwardly away. _Wonderful._ I jabbed Roland in the ribs. "You tell a story, brother."

"Why don't you?" retorted the boy.

"Oh, I told all o' 'em me stories already. 'Tis your turn, laddie," I insisted, slapping his back with unnecessary aggressiveness.

"Fine," he grumbled, leaning forward and resting his elbow on his knee as he sought for a story to entertain his mates with.

"Have I told ye all about Astrid?" he asked. My eyes grew wide and I stepped on his foot, though not so hard as to be caught. I forced him to tell a story and he got me back by deciding to tell his friends a story about _me_.

"No," said Bennett. "Who is she?" I glanced over at Dobbin and his eyes reflected a dumb gaze at me.

"Astrid is my adopted sister," resumed Roland, disregarding Dobbin's speechless visage and my hidden irritation. "She's only a few months older than me, but certainly not as smart."

I twitched inside, but I reluctantly agreed to myself that I was indeed not very smart compared to Roland. "She is about, hmm… well, she stands a little above my shoulder, has brown curly hair and big blue eyes. And I have to admit, she is a lovely young woman. But, do not let her looks fool you."

"Got that right," I snorted.

"Who's telling the story, Jack?" said Roland, irritably. "Me. So let _me _finish."

"Fine, fine. Go on and tell these lads about your one hell of a nice-looking sister." Roland shook his head and continued on, his once immobile hands now enthusiastically gesticulating.

He went on telling them the story of how I ruined my own fifteenth birthday and disgraced my whole family. And all the while, I was burning madly inside and I hoped that I was not burning red about the face.

"Griffith was half-drunk as well," continued Roland, "but Astrid, she was mad with the alcohol and acted no better than a whore!" _Shut up, Roland. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up._

"Griffith has failed to tell me about anything like that," said Bennett, surprised himself. "No wonder he already knew you. Because of your sister."

"Oh, I am sure he'd love to see Astrid again, but she did give him a few punches to the face before she got drunk that night. He was picking on her suitor, Adam Locke, and she knocked him because of it, well, actually I did. But she joined in on the fight afterwards."

"Truly a fine lady, I suppose," said Bennett, cracking a naughty grin. _And I always thought you were a good boy, Bennett._.

"The finest," replied Roland with the same taunting mockery. "Funny little Astrid. She is promised though, to her lieutenant. Many a lad was disappointed at that."

"That's hard to believe," said Bennett. I shrank at the comment. If I ever told him I was a girl, he'd find me a disgrace. "Drunk at her own birthday and spooned with Griffith." He shook his head.

"People do stupid things when they're drunk, Bennie," I intruded, hopelessly putting out a good word for my horrible self.

"She's an idiot to get drunk from the beginning, Jack, especially for a woman. I'm not as easily seduced by a woman's physical features as you are."

"Tell that to Griffith," I murmured irately before getting up and abandoning their unpleasant company for the congenial company of the sea.

I sat on the wet sand and dipped my feet in the waves as they broke on the beach, looking up at the moon that I always looked for whenever I felt misplaced.

¤¤

It was mid afternoon of the next day. I sat on a rock, watching the lads play what Bennett had called, 'cricket.' It was a strange game indeed, or at least it was to me. Roland somehow knew the rules and was avidly playing amongst the other lads. How he knew the game, I did not know and I did not want to know. I had stolen some money of his that morning to trade with the natives for food, and he was still very peeved at me for taking it.

Bennett was holding what seemed to be a wide stick of some sort, and behind him was what I would later discover as a 'wicket.' The wicket consisted of two wooden crosspieces, which Roland informed me were called 'bails,' and the bails rested on two wooden stumps. Their significance in an already very confusing game was not apparent to me yet, and I just watched Bennett eagerly wait for the bowler to conduct an overarm throw to him.

The bowler took a few steps forward, thrust the ball away without bending his arm, and with a sharp 'whack' Bennett sent the ball flying up in the air, in which, during that time, he ran to exchange places with the other batsman. I had no idea of the reasons behind it all, but I did do my best to sit and watch and smile and cheer whenever a team scored. There was no real desire for me to join in on the game, but apparently, my restless position on the rock must have caused Bennett to think otherwise.

"Join us, Jack!" he beckoned, excitedly walking towards me. Shaking my head and stepping back from him, I kindly declined his offer.

"No," I said. "Don't know how to play."

"I'll teach you. It's not hard. You'll understand it quickly," he replied, panting for he had just interrupted the game by deciding to include me in it.

"I assure you, Mister Bennett, I don't want to play. I'm quite content with watching."

"Not the way I saw it," he said smugly, grinning at me. I began to despise his adamancy but countered his persistence with my own.

"Maybe you interpreted incorrectly," I said. "Because I do _not_ want to play this 'cricket' game of yours."

"One inning," he pressed. "Just one. I won't badger you any further. We need an extra man."

"Then get Griffith," I said curtly, treading away.

"Oh, come on, Jack!" he urged, following after me. I crossed my arms over my chest and continued to walk away. My mind was not set on participating in the game with the other lads, despite how welcoming it would make me feel. And my different view of 'fun' and Bennett's continued to collide in a loud conversation full of yells, pleas and finally, a resolution.

I looked up at him questioningly, biting my bottom lip as I thought about his offer. I had done a lot more thinking now that I spent every moment of my life on the ship amongst men. My womanly innocence would not serve as my downfall and every opportunity that passed me by, I confronted, analyzed and discarded.

Bennett had a pleading look in his blue eyes, and his lips were curved into a strangely captivating smile. Sighing and kicking at the ground, I finally made my decision. "Once," I said strictly. "And it shall be my last until I say otherwise."

He turned around and gave a leap of joy. I giggled inside at his boyish activity. He seemed so easy to know and befriend, like a toy doll a child was given. Once they met, they were inseparable. Bennett was indeed very charismatic and benevolent and it was because of those characteristics about him that I decided to comply with his silly wish.

"Can you inform me of the rules, Bennie?" I asked as he escorted me to a fitting spot for my decrepit cricket abilities.

"As for now, due to lack of time, I'm just telling you to keep an eye out for the ball and to try and catch it if it comes your way. And when you step up to swing, if you hit it, run directly for the wicket opposite you. Can you at least do that?"

"Doesn't seem too difficult," I said, rather dully. I was not amused with the thrill of a cricket game in any great sense and patiently waited for the moment where Bennett would permit me leave from the sport. "I think I can manage."

"Good." With a comforting pat on the shoulder, he left me to face the world of cricket alone, and although at the moment I was not at all intimidated or prepared for the exact events of the game, Bennett's reassuring touch suddenly left me feeling as if I could do anything. Apparently, I would find that I most definitely could not.

Needless to say, the entire cricket game after I had taken part in it was inevitably disastrous. Not only did I embarrass myself, but I also successfully humiliated Bennett as well. Roland, I left with a thunderous scowl, and Dobbin deserted the game after I ran into him trying to catch the damn ball. He fell, hurt his knee and hobbled off with a few of his mates to sit down.

Injury was not the only thing I caused. I managed to hit the ball, after nearly missing it fifty times, only to have it land in a fire nearby. More specifically, Mister Cooke's cooking fire. He was busy preparing our dinner when the ball collided into the freshly burning wood, sending several sparks everywhere. Due to the sparks, Mister Cooke got burned and had to seek Doctor Cavanaugh for treatment. And therefore, we did not eat dinner at the appropriate time, and as punishment, Captain Carlisle ordered us to find our own dinners and to refrain from playing cricket for the rest of the stay on the island. I was not proud to say that afterwards, all the lads were giving me cross looks and muttering curses behind my back.

Surprisingly, I dealt with the humiliation quite well, considering that the embarrassment I had obtained from my horrid fifteenth birthday celebration and also when I fell from the fort were nothing compared to what the lads were giving me. I was not disappointed that I had ruined their game and was the cause of the game becoming prohibited. I was more disappointed at Bennett's and Roland's dissatisfaction with me.

Roland, who I had left angry from the beginning because of the shilling I took from him, was even more indignant and refused to speak to me. Bennett was less emotional as Roland, but still quite upset. He wouldn't look at me for a while, but he still answered when I asked him a question, although he answered briefly with little interest.

"Sorry I broke up the game," I said honestly, looking at his turned face for a response. He pointed his nose up to the blue sky and stared at it, the sunlight forcing him to squint.

"An apology is not needed, Jack," he said, speaking to the sky instead of me. "I believe I should blame myself. After all, I had requested for you to participate, and well, you denied the request. Only, I had to be stubborn as an ass and demand that you engage in our merriment."

"That was a mistake," I said, before he could talk any further. "I told you I didn't want to play, and what do ya do, laddie? Ya go on and say, 'Oh, go on, Jack. It'll be fun!' And the whole crew now hates me because I listened to you."

"That is exactly why I refuse to vindicate myself," replied Bennett, a bit irritably. "I accuse you of nothing, Jack. Now, if you can allot me some time alone?" He marched off without a farewell and I glowered at his shrinking figure as he walked across the white strip of sand heading off to think in nowhere.

"I'll give ye all the time in the world, Bennie, so you can sit by yerself and ponder your life's mysteries away," I grumbled, digging my foot into the sand.

With Bennett gone, Roland on the verge of exploding, and Dobbin resting his bruised leg, I stood alone on the shore, watching the anchored H.M.S_ Resolve _being worked on. The air was restless, blowing back and forth repeatedly, and I predicted that the wind would only grow more agitated and conjure up a storm in the days to come. Water lapped at the shoreline, and I took off my boots and waded into the water, suddenly wanting to desert the British Navy and take a different route to find Jack. But then a thought sparked in my empty head. What if there was only one route to find Jack, and what if the one I was on now, was that single chance?

"Jack," said a voice. The rush of the waves on the shore was drowned out by the new interruption.

I turned my head away from the serenity of the sea and found Doctor Cavanaugh standing a few paces behind me, his face molded into inflexible seriousness. "Your assistance is needed," he said simply before walking away and expecting me to follow, which was exactly what I did.

The tug of obligation was what pulled my body to follow Doctor Cavanaugh, and before long, we entered a tent where a few bandaged heads sat on their matching bodies. "Andre," I said into the dim of the tent. "Is he fairing well?"

"He has not woken yet, Jack," replied Cavanaugh. "His minor depression of the skull resulted in being a much more acute condition." He beckoned me over to a specific spot, and cautiously, I crept forward, afraid to step on some man's sore limb in the crowded and dank tent.

Doctor Cavanaugh pointed towards the insensate and pale body of Andre that lay limply on a cot, and I peered at him feeling extremely worried with his state.

"Andre," I whispered, kneeling down beside the cot. I gave him a rough nudge. He didn't move. My body jolted with panic ignited by the rising fear within me and I veered my head towards Doctor Cavanaugh, my eyes wide and anxiously searching for answers in his untranslatable countenance. "Doctor, what's wrong with him?"

"He is in a deep unconscious state, Jack. I'm going to have to perform an operation if he is going to live out the night."

"What!" I shrieked, jumping to my feet. "Ya can't bloody open his head! What if he dies?"

"He may die either way. But if I do nothing—"

"Give him just one more day. He'll wake up. He must," I begged.

"Neither you nor I know that for certain, Jack. I cannot wait another day for he could very well pass away into a permanent position of no return overnight. It is either now or never." I looked from him to Andre and felt my head shake with indecision.

"Jack, he will die," said Cavanaugh. He suspended any further talk for a brief moment and eyed me gravely. "I need you to aid me in his operation."

I stared blankly at Doctor Cavanaugh not knowing what to think or say.

I staggered out of the tent and while I slowly detached myself from the maritime life, I stumbled into the tropical forest, covering my tear-streaked face with my hand as my legs faltered with every step I took. Collapsing to the soft earth on my knees, I rubbed my face vigorously in the silly hope of stopping the tears. But they ended up streaming out anyway.

Andre was dying and I didn't know what to do.


	11. My Bonny Lighter Boy

_Chapter Eleven: My Bonny Lighter Boy_

**T**he operation was over. Andre's brain was relieved of further pressure, but now his poor head was wrapped excessively in bandages that desired to be changed every hour. He lay in his cot, looking even paler than before and I sat in a chair beside him, checking on his bodily movements every few minutes. He did not move much at all, save for a few abrupt spasms where his body jerked with his irregular nerve impulses. Although the sign was rather heartbreaking, it was still a hopeful indication that he was still alive.

I was reading one of the doctor's nature books and had become quite engrossed in it that I did not notice someone enter the tent.

"How is he fairing?" came a voice. It took a while for the sound to penetrate my deaf ears and after a minute or two, I finally looked up from the book to find Bennett sitting on the edge of Andre's cot, looking at me with slight interest in his narrowed blue eyes.

"I suppose better than before, but nothing is certain," I replied solemnly, marking my page in the book and setting it closed on my lap. "Where is Roland and Dobbin?"

"Stationed on the ship watch. They'll be gone half the night," answered Bennett, shifting in his seat and clasping his hands together in thought. "Griffith's back on land, and he's out looking for Consuela again." He laughed feebly, but his attempt to humor was not humoring me very well. I only managed to smile lamely in return and he took the forced grin as a failure.

"Eh, I'm not surprised," I shrugged. "The lecherous fool… seducing Roland's sister…" I grumbled, getting irritated with the matter over Griffith.

"I thought she was drunk," questioned Bennett, his curiosity turning into suspicion.

"No," I replied. "During her fifteenth birthday, he beat up her lover and then stole her away, fondling her while she was writhing in his lusty arms." I was suddenly pricked by reality and began to feel heat stain my cheeks. Wisely, I decided to shut up for the rest of the time Bennett was in the tent.

Carefully, I glanced over at him in all my humiliation. The poor lad was speechless. "Disregard everything I said, Bennie. I dunno what came over me." And I only condemned myself further by looking nervously at the floor.

"I think…" He leaned in closer so that his face was at an angle looking up at me and I could not elude his puzzled expression any longer. "… that you have some explaining to do, Jack."

"There ain't nothing to explain, Bennie."

"You wouldn't be so intent on asking me to forget if what you said was true," he replied. "Jack?" He came all the more closer, and I abandoned my seat and stood up to avoid his inquisitions.

"I told you, Bennett. I have—"

"More lies to say?" he intruded, clearly agitated with my refusal to cooperate with him. "Jack, I refuse to collaborate with you if you do not tell me the truth. This is the second time you have revealed a flaw in your supposedly genuine story." He rose from the cot and advanced. "I want the truth, Jack, and as your commanding officer, you must oblige, or I can have you flogged for insubordination."

"You are willing to go to such lengths just to—"

"Comradeship does not exist without trust!" he yelled. "And by your extensive use of deception, I fear that you will never find refuge in anything but your own lies." He pressed his lips together in anger and then swiftly turned about and exited the tent.

With him gone, I waved my arms about the air, mimicking his scolds, completely unaware that he could have very well been listening to my complaints from outside the tent. Apparently, it was not Bennett who found and heard me nagging about his adamantine personality. Unfortunately, the next person to pop into the tent was none other than the gruesome Griffith.

"You are quite a flamboyant one, aren't you, Jack?" he snickered as he straightened his already perfect back.

"How convenient of you to come in, sir," I grunted, turning my back to him.

"Yes, very convenient, for you see, I've become quite intrigued with your new alliance with Bennett. You are mates, correct?" He sat himself in my chair, crossing his legs and leaning back with relaxation that seemed to come from nowhere.

"Why?" I asked. "Afraid to lose some support, Griffith?"

"_Mister_ Griffith," he corrected. "I do not need to remind you of the last time you failed to respect me, now do I?" He pointed to the scar on my face and I left it at that.

"State why you are here so that I may spend the rest of the night in peace, _Mister_ Griffith." He laughed and folded his hands in his lap, eyeing me with ridiculing suspicion.

"Jack, Jack," he sighed falsely. "Dear boy, why do you find it a threat that I am simply questioning you about your friendship with one of my most trusted confidants?"

"I don't," I snapped back, refusing to look at him.

"Oh, but I think you do. Bennett's…" He paused and rubbed his chin as he thought of how to finish his statement. "…He's a bit of a reserved young man, if you would say. He enjoys his time alone and for him to be ever so cooperative with you surprises me. I haven't seen him this talkative since the woman he has been wanting to court since he was fourteen agreed to marry him whenever he returns home." _That_ got my attention and I slowly turned my head in Griffith's direction and found him grinning his trademark grin that made him the bastard everyone abhorred. "I see he didn't tell you that," he smiled, pleased with my shocked face.

"We're not the best of friends if that is what you are asking. Obviously he'd rather speak with you about things than me."

"Of course. Who would mingle with a mere, uneducated cabin boy?" he simpered. "I sure wouldn't."

"You just are," I retorted.

"Now, now, Jack. I meant no offense…" He stood up and approached me, his eyes focusing on my face. "However, I do need to remind you of your place. Bennett is an easily manipulated simpleton; any person whom he trusts can bend him to his will."

"He deserves far better treatment than that, you sick—"

"I knew you'd return defensively," he grinned. "Do me a favor, Jack, and stay out of Bennett's way. You are a bad influence on his superiority. And, mind you, I asked you _kindly_, and I expect my orders to be executed with accuracy and speed." I thought he was finished with his speech, but I was an idiot to think that Griffith would ever leave a conversation with me unharmed. He seized my shirt collar next and brought my face extremely close to his, almost as if he wanted to _kiss_ me. "Convince Bennett to turn against me and I'll have you flogged, Jack." I tried to back my face away from his, but ultimately remained close enough to feel his breath on my skin.

"Why? Afraid you'll become powerless without your lackey?" I challenged with a choke. His eyes flickered, and I knew I would have been beaten until I was a giant bruise if we hadn't been interrupted.

"What goes on here?" Our heads averted to the entrance of the tent and we found Roland standing bewildered, his face twisted in a mix of anger and disgust.

"Nothing," replied Griffith, pushing me back as he released his grip on my shirt. "Just a few negotiations." He marched primly outside, leaving Roland to look at me with a very disappointed face.

"What have you done now?" he moaned.

"Nothing. Bennett, Griffith and I just got in another tiff. That's all," I replied nonchalantly, sinking back into my chair. Roland growled and rubbed his tired face with his hands.

"I asked permission to step on land to see how Andre was fairing and here I find you causing more trouble. Can you ever do something right without me? When I was on land you never had this problem, Jack," he complained.

"I'm sorry, all right? Whenever you're not around then Griffith is, and without you, he knows I'm vulnerable. And Bennett's not making it any easier because I am forced to question if he is friend or foe again! By God, it is so bloody difficult to handle it all!"

"Then stay out of their way! You, especially, are better off by yourself than to be mingling around because you cannot help but be so bloody pugnacious and pick fights with anyone who dares to threaten you! Either you sort out your own messes, or ignore them for the rest of this journey. I can't and I won't help you anymore." Steam was about ready to shoot out of my ears and I stomped my foot on the ground and clenched my fists.

"Fine!" I roared. "If you don't remember, it was _you_ who decided to come with me and now you regret me being here when you brought it on yourself! So much for loyal, helpful, brother, aye?"

"Don't even raise that question, Jack," bellowed Roland.

"Oh, sod off, for God's sake. I'll show you I can do fine without your help. Go. Andre's fine. If he dies, then you'll know. Now just bloody leave."

"If that is how you want it, then you'll get your way. No help from me or Dobbin or anyone else. None." He took his leave at that. Stalking off and with a huff, I crossed my arms over my chest and contorted my face in anger, glaring at everything and anything in my field of vision.

"Damn all men to Davy Jones' Locker," I groused. "Damn them all, by God."

I gathered my sea chest in my arms and followed the other sailors to the small boats headed for the anchored _Resolve_. The short week spent on land was not at all used in the way I had hoped for, but I was very glad to leave it all behind. I was sick of trying to trade with the natives for my frustration with their language got me angered too quickly, not to mention that Griffith did indeed finally ensnare Consuela and emerged from his tent one morning, a satisfied smirk on his face.

Roland was no better than Bennett and would not even look in my direction whenever I passed by. And whatever he did, Dobbin did the same, and so Dobbin was avoiding me as well. I prayed for Andre to wake up soon so that I could have at least had someone to talk to. Of course, Doctor Cavanaugh proved to be a good person to talk to at any time. He was patient and attentive, but it did me little good. Pride was allied too heavily with men, and perhaps their pride would be my downfall.

If any of us were even thinking about apologizing to one another, it was me. I had to be the weak one and I officially decided in my head to apologize to Bennett first. Roland was too steamed for me to approach and Griffith would never receive an apology from me. Perhaps he would receive a bloody nose, but nothing in the least bit diplomatic.

Bennett was currently ordering the men about, yelling which goods go to which cutter heading for the _Resolve_. Even with his top hat on, he still had to use his hand as a visor from the sun.

I addressed him from behind.

"Sir?" I said timidly, afraid to infuriate him in any way possible. His head turned around, and at my sight, he turned quickly away.

"Your orders, Jack, are to assist in the packing of these small vessels. Now, if you do not obey, I will just have you sent to the _Resolve_ where you can suffer under the captain's orders," he replied grimly, his back still facing me.

"You hold a grudge pretty long yourself," I mumbled before fulfilling my orders and dumping my sea chest into a cutter and then hopping into the small boat myself. Perhaps I truly needed to get myself away from all these disputes.

The cutter was still quite empty, and so I continued to sit there while some other sailors began to put their belongings into the boat, along with themselves. Unfortunately for me, I was too absorbed in my own mind to hear the repetitive call of, "You there! Lad!" It came rather gruffly, and I tilted my head to the side and found the grubby Lonan addressing me.

"Set this here sea chest in there, would ya, lad?" he asked, revealing his crooked and decayed teeth in a shameful smile. I thought I could smell his rancid breath from where I sat in the cutter.

Glaring at him, I grabbed the sea chest in his muscular, tattooed arms and dumped it rather carelessly on a random space in the boat. He chuckled and waved a chubby, red finger at me. "Impish boy, aren't ya?" he snickered as he stepped into the boat and nearly made it tip over. I managed to grip onto the side of it to keep myself from falling.

"This cutter is full, lads," came Bennett's voice from afar. "Initiate rowing." A few of the sailors in the boat picked up the oars and dipped them into the water. There was a slight push from behind and we were off, back to the _Resolve_.

"How's the other cabin boy, doin', laddie?" he asked unexpectedly, looking down at me with his beady dark eyes. I could feel my left eye twitching a bit, but being a mere ship's boy, I was forced to answer.

"He's still not awake," I said, trying not to seem interested in his question or unconcerned with my friend's condition.

"Good mate o' yiz?" he questioned further, and I flared my nose, wanting to steal an oar from one of the rowers and whack the bastard in the face with it. There was something about him that just made me cringe. But perhaps it wasn't him I should have been scared of because there were far worse enemies on the ship.

"Yes," I nodded.

"How old are ya? Ten?"

"Thirteen," I corrected. "Thirteen."

"Don't seem like it. Yer too stunted and dainty to be thirteen." _Dainty_. He had called me _dainty_ a word used to describe _women_. I began to get very worried with him around me. I was growing sick with fear at the thought that he would know I was a woman.

"Gettin' stronger everyday," I managed to say, and Lonan gave me the same eerie look Griffith often sent in my direction. Though his eyes were dark, they suddenly glimmered with that odd white flame, leaving me to look away, clearly afraid for my own life. And sadly, with such bad relations with my closest mates, I had no one to talk to about the matter.

The ship was off again, with its white sails freed and full of air streaming from the North. The sky was less blue and clouds were gathering, but the sun still succeeded in shedding some light around, which created a more relaxed environment on the ship. Apparently, it was relaxation I could not grasp.

With the constant flapping of the sails around me, I sat on the main topsail yard, my legs swinging and my arm gripping a line for support. I could see the blue main stretch for miles and miles around us, with nothing but blue sky as a companion. I was up there for two reasons, one being that I was still troubled by my last encounter with Lonan, and two, because Andre was still unconscious and I wanted to worry for his sake alone.

From atop that mast, I was separated from the nautical world for just a moment, and I could enter my girlish fantasies without feeling self-conscious of what others would think. Up there, I was safe to worry, safe to brood, safe to be caught mumbling to myself, for from the vision of the men on deck, I looked simply as a lad idling about and avoiding some unnecessary work.

Unlike girls, men did not press themselves into matters not theirs, excluding Griffith. They knew when it was proper to intrude and when it was not, for they were too protective of their pride to accept every challenge given them, again with Griffith as the exception. The possibility of puncturing that pride by engaging in heated debate was all too important to them.

The other thing about men I discovered, based on my observations on the ship, was that they talked much less than women. Girls took every opportunity to ridicule and mock, but with men, it was different. I assumed that they spent more time in their thoughts than in the world of verbal exchange. I was the exception there. Like most girls, I gossiped, I said nasty things behind peoples' backs and I whined very often. Every thought I had was usually spoken aloud, but I wasn't so stupid as to happily yell my girlish dreams. However, it was a man's reluctance to speak aloud that made it difficult to understand their feelings.

But the one thing about men I hated the most was their authority. From authority came pride, and from pride came arrogance, and from arrogance came spits of anger and violence. No matter who the man was, what rank he was at, or his age, he had some control over something or someone, whether it was supreme reign over a country or a mere woman.

But perhaps it was not their superiority that I hated. Perhaps how they used their power was what angered me in their company. The perfect example would be Griffith. The lad was fit and handsome, which gave him command over us frail female specimens. He was also rich, which gave him supremacy over businesses and property. His power over women allowed him to abuse it by bedding any woman whom he wished, and his influence over money allowed him to buy whatever his heart desired and to rob men below him of justified profit. Misuse of authority was what bothered me. Men might have been handsome, enchanting and kind, but they were most unfair. And, not to mention, they held grudges too long.

My whole evaluation of men caused me to remember my Adam. His ring was still on a chain clasped around my neck and grasping it, I wondered about him. The ring was a heavy gold ring, with a ruby placed directly in the middle, gleaming with a faint crimson glow. It had a few engravings which I ran my fingers over, and as I did, I believed a letter was long overdue to my lovely lieutenant.

I was lucky that Adam's whereabouts came to mind during my leisure time. I was eager to walk below deck, grab some parchment, ink and a quill from my sea chest and seat myself on a bench in the gunnery, to finally write my letter.

As I set the items on the table, I had the hesitancy to actually put them to use. I was afraid that if I sent him a letter, he would reply in return and not consider that I was a lad, and would include several admiring words in his response. If any of the men got hold of it, I would be branded a fairy forever, and I did not want that on my already stained hands.

Plus, there was the possibility that he would tell my parents that I was on the _Resolve_ and they could very well go out to sea and find Roland and me and take us home. I did not want that either. _Oh, Adam, _I thought._How am I supposed to keep in touch with you if writing a letter would endanger both myself and Roland?_ I tapped my foot on the floor as I pondered over the situation and my cloud of thought was impeccably interrupted by my supervisor, Doctor Cavanaugh. "Good news, Jack," he said. I looked up from my paper, neither happy nor frustrated.

"Yes, sir?" I answered, my foot still tapping.

"Your friend is awake and talking, might I add. He's recovered very well." Suddenly ignited with new found joy, I leapt from my seat and my first thought was to lunge forward and hug good old Cavanaugh for the news, but I recognized the fairy-ness of such an action and controlled myself.

"That's brilliant!" I cried. "Where is he?"

He led me to his office where Roland and the other midshipmen were. Why they were there, I did not know. Griffith seemed bored out of his mind and gnawed on his fingernail while Bennett went to exchange a few greetings with Andre on his recovery. I gave Andy a few pats on the shoulder and chatted with him a bit, but it never went unnoticed to me that Roland was glaring at my back and Bennett was sending me a silent attack from the front, and when they finished openly displaying their displeasure of me being in their company, all four middies left.

Andre took one look at me and knew I had caused trouble again. I cared not. I shook his hand briefly and waved goodbye to Cavanaugh before returning to my letter to Adam. That simple piece of paper was the only hope I had of releasing my emotions in a positive manner.

As I sat back down in my little booth, staring at the blank slips, I began to sort out what I would write in my head. I grew aggravated with my simple and upfront girlishness and gave a scowl as I scratched my head in frustration. I knew I wanted to tell Adam that I missed him and that I loved him and that I wished he was here with me, but those were all so frank. It did not express my clear yearning or feelings for him in as many words as possible to show how great my love for him was. It was so massive that I could not describe it in just one word, but apparently, monosyllabic phrases were all I could think of.

"Oh, Jack, that is positively awful," I growled, crumpling up the paper I had spoiled with my useless black writing. I was about to stain the next piece of parchment with the fine tip of the quill when I heard a deep, musical screech.

It was Bennett. He stood not far off with a few of the other sailors and beneath his chin was the round base of a violin and in his right hand was the bow delicately gliding over the strings in harmony. I stopped thinking of my letter and watched him as he played, his eyes closed in concentration and his lips taut as he was absorbed by the beautiful music he was playing. I did not know what song he was playing, but the sailors seemed to know it. A few of them began to tap their feet and hum a long. Some began to sing, and I had to abandon my spot to come close enough to hear what they were singing.

_'Twas in her father's garden,  
Beneath the willow tree,  
He took her up all in his arms,  
And kiss'd her tenderly  
Down on the ground they both sat down,  
And talk'd of love and joy;  
Let him say what he will,  
he's her love still,  
He's her bonny lighter boy._

Bennett's melody came to an end, and as he lifted his chin to remove the violin, he opened his eyes and immediately spotted me standing by myself listening to the sailors chat and talk. I didn't see him though. I was heartbroken by the song for Adam was my own 'bonny lighter boy.' And though I had gone away and left him to go where he will, '_he was my love still. He was my bonny lighter boy_.'


	12. Change of Course

_Chapter Twelve: Change of Course_

**M**y letter to Adam was never completed. In fact, I never wrote anything down which I really intended to send, for after silently listening to Bennett's continuous violin playing, he decided at that time to finally come to another agreement with me.

Although he had noticed me listening to the numerous songs he played for the sailors and probably for his own pleasure, he continued to take a pause between songs, rub his red neck where his violin was always seated and then resumed to slide the bow over the strings to make the lovely instrument hum. After about a half hour of musical air, he finally put his violin away, much to the sailors' disappointment, and seeing that the young midshipman was finished, the men began to disperse, except for me.

While Bennett was busy giving his instrument a good quick polish, he decided to address me in my Adam-centered mind. It took him nearly three times to finally penetrate my wall of memories and thoughts.

"You're awfully silent," he said, neither kindly nor angrily. He placed his violin carefully in its case and clasped the wooden box shut before looking at me directly.

I could feel his stare on my head, although I was staring at the floor, with my arms crossed and my back leaning against a wooden pole. "Don't tell me music is what finally gets you to shut up."

I was already in a very depressed state as it was, for Bennett's heartrending sea chanties about love and broken promises were greatly affecting me, and yet the young man had the nerve to try to sardonically make fun when it was evident I was in no mood for jest.

"Since you find my voice so annoying, then why do you request for me to speak?" I shot back, my legs growing weak and allowing for my back to slide down a bit on the pole.

"And you said I held a grudge too long," he said softly, as if I wouldn't hear him.

"I never held a grudge against you. If you recall, I attempted to make peace yesterday morning, but no; proud Mister Bennett does not bow down to stupid little ship's boys, now does he?"

With a huff and snarl, I folded my arms across my chest all the tighter and glowered at him. "Does that answer all of the questions you could possibly ask?"

"Yes…yes, it does," he replied, modestly bewildered at my sudden outburst of complaints. He even looked away and ran a hand through his hair, much as he had always done when he was nervous. "I'm… sorr—"

"I'm sorry," I said, before he could. "I tried to tell you that before, but you weren't willing to listen, so I decided I might as well get it out before you did. I don't even know why I am even apologizing."

"Because you lied excessively to me and therefore left me to question your credibility," he replied smartly.

"Do you find me credible at all?" I pressed, waiting impatiently for him to leave so that I could pour my heart and soul into words to a letter to my Adam and that was being far too delayed for my own pleasure.

"I don't quite know, Jack. I don't even know if you are a friend."

"Perhaps you just find it difficult to pick out what is the truth and what is the lie."

"Well, it'd be much easier if you did not lie as much as you tell the truth, if it is truth you say at all."

"You are just like—" I cut myself off, realizing that I was about to say, 'You are just like Adam.' But he would know who Adam was because he knew who Ian was. It was indeed a small world for me to come across a popular young man like Bennett who knew almost everyone I knew in Port Royal even though he had never gone there himself.

Like Adam, he was always suspicious—always thinking that I never told the truth when for the most part I was. Although my name was Jack and I had proclaimed myself a 'man' in Bennett's eyes, the majority of the stories I told him were mostly true. I had told him of my small run of bad luck with a certain boy named Matthew as a child, but I replaced my true name with Jack. And I had also informed him of when I got drunk for the first time, although I had changed the setting to an orphanage and had changed the papers about Jack to papers about the ancient pirate Blackbeard. So, in all due honesty, there was always some fact in my tales.

"I'm just like who?" he questioned, peering down at me.

"No one. Forget I said anything. Just a lass I once knew." There I went again with the lying. "Adelaide was her name. Thought I was always lying to her about everything."

"Were you?" he asked, seemingly on the verge of smiling.

"O' course not. She was a pretty thing. I'd do anything for her. Apparently, she never noticed that and that's exactly why I left."

"You're not much of a dedicated lover, are you, Jack?" I could feel my cheeks steadily growing warmer with every mentioning of women we made. Of course, I was making up a bunch of lies, for what else could I have talked about? Certainly not men. That would leave Bennett looking at me all queer for the rest of my life.

"Dedicated? Oh, I'm very dedicated. Just get too caught up in the next best thing that comes around and at that point, my dedication drops to an all time low." He managed a smirk at that.

I had never spoken to him seriously about our love relationships, but here was my chance. He had said before that he had no woman back home, but by his interest in the topic, I suspected that he was very eager to say something.

"I've been very fortunate with my relationships," he confessed, walking towards the guns and my makeshift table. He sat himself on one side and I slid into the booth opposite and stared back at him, waiting for him to continue. "I've really only had one, although I told you I have no lass waiting for me. I do."

"One, eh? Lucky man. Ya won't have to go through all the whines and wails of numerous lasses in a chain of broken hearts."

I knew what he was about to say next. Griffith had mentioned to me of the woman who he had desired since he was fourteen agreeing to marry him whenever he returned, and I was dying to find out who she was, what she looked like and her age just to make sure handsome young Bennie wasn't going to marry another version of Alexandra Westley.

"I suppose I am fortunate. Very fortunate. You see, back in Portsmouth, Griffith's father and mine would often meet at each other's mansions to negotiate dealings with their trade. Usually the whole Griffith family would arrive, on account of that our father's meetings were quite prolonged. That was how I managed to know Griffith so well. He and his family would constantly come by and vice a versa."

"So the Bennetts and the Griffiths date back to a long time, eh?" I asked, relaxing a bit since I was not required to speak any further about my own gender to a person of my opposite sex.

"Not too long. You see, Griffith has an older sister. His senior by one year." I nearly choked at that. There was a Lady Griffith? Girls were even crueler than lads and Griffith was already the worst young man on earth! How awful could his sister be?

"Sister? Are they alike? 'Cause, well, you know how Griffith is." Bennett laughed and shook his head.

"No. They are actually quite different. She is the one person who manages to control Griffith and yet she is not at all malicious."

"Looks can be deceiving, Ben," I warned.

"Oh, no need to worry, Jack. I've known her since I was a boy. I was lucky to have the opportunity to have her as a friend before having her as a suitor."

_Suitor_. The word rang mockingly in my ears, which was strange from the beginning, for I shouldn't have been jealous. I had my Adam of course, and well, many a lass back at home hated me for taking him.

"That's… good," I said, not entirely meaning it. I wanted him to say that Griffith's sister was a wench and monster, but he was too good-hearted. "What's her name?"

"Marie," he said, beaming at the angelic name. It did indeed sound like the perfect name for the most refined lady in the world. It wasn't rugged and hard on the tongue like foreign-sounding 'Astrid.' And it definitely could not be used in a derogatory manner, while I had been called _Ass_trid too many a time. "Marie Laura Griffith. She is my age, if you are wondering."

"Good match," I said through my clenching teeth. "Ya have a picture of her?"

He raised an eyebrow at me, most likely wondering, 'You'd better not travel to Portsmouth and take her away from me, you dastardly dog.' And I replied with my pert little grin.

"I do," he said. "Just a small portrait." He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a small, framed oval and gently handed it to me. I decided to take one glance at it, pick out everything that was wrong with her and then return it to Bennett with a smile. Though, as soon as I looked at it, my jaw dropped. There was nothing wrong with Marie Laura Griffith.

By the picture, she had the perfect white complexion and naturally rosy cheeks. Her nose was small and fine and her face was even and round. Her eyes were blue, like Griffith's and she had the same, dark curly hair as him as well, but she smiled a smile that was as dazzling as my dear Mum's.

I gave a moan inside and tossed the small portrait back to Bennett, clearly disappointed with myself. Here I was on a ship, dressed as a man, and worse, talking about women as if I _was_ a man, in another man's company. No wonder no men were ever truly inspired to have me as a lifelong companion. I was wild and pretty, which was what men looked for if they wanted just one long night of inexplicable contentment. "She's a darlin'," I said, although I had the urge to gag it.

"Yes, isn't she?" replied Bennett proudly, taking the picture back and placing it safely into his coat pocket. "I heard that there is the possibility that we will change course as soon as we find out targeted ship."

"Where would we go?"

"To the Mediterranean. Possibly Egypt," said Bennett excitedly.

"Where's that?" I inquired, still clueless as to the location of all the countries in the world although I had stared at numerous atlases and maps for hours back in Port Royal.

"North Eastern Africa. A very interesting place based on what I've heard. Pyramids, tombs, obelisks. I can't wait until we get there."

"How long do you think it will possibly take?"

"Oh, perhaps five months or so. No longer, I don't think. It all depends on how quickly we find our French frigate in these waters. Or, if we find any pirates working for the French. We can't leave until we've completed just a bit of our mission. Captain wouldn't do that."

"How long are men usually on a ship for?"

"A year maybe. It all depends on what is required of them. I haven't set foot in Portsmouth for over five." With a false sigh to make it seem as if the conversation was boring me, I leaned back and stretched my arms.

"Not homesick either, aye?"

"No. Not really, save for Marie."

_Oh, damn Marie, _I thought. Our banter was again at a standstill, and wearily we tried to hopelessly keep our mouths spilling useless words. Or at least, that was what Bennett intended to do.

"I guess… I guess I'd call this another freedom from strife, wouldn't you say so, Jack?" he asked after our awkward minute long pause from speaking.

"Huh?" I replied, not understanding this "freedom from strife" concept.

"I mean, us talking again has ended any conflict, correct?" he returned, almost unsure himself. I shrugged and rudely brought my legs up to the table and happily crossed them on the tabletop, making Bennett lean back in utter repulsion.

"I deem so," I replied bluntly, tucking my arms behind my head.

"Would you still like some help becoming a better seaman?" he aroused, looking honestly at me. I switched my eyes so that I returned his stare, and I managed to hold his rather abnormally blue eyes for more than ten seconds, which was a great improvement.

"I'd like that. Hell, Bennie, I need all the help I can get."

"Well, I'd be honored to help you then." He stood up and leaned over the table, his arm extended for a shake. Hesitantly, I looked from him to his hand and slowly removed my limbs from the tabletop. Reaching over, I grasped his hand and squeezed it tight, which was another thing that caught him by surprise.

"And I feel honored to be put under your wing. Anything you'd like to say now before the work begins?" I asked, breaking the sign of agreement.

"There _is_ one thing, Jack," began Bennett. "Never put your feet on top of a table again."

"What does that have to do with anything?" I wondered aloud, placing my hands on my hips.

"If you are going to be an able seaman one day, Jack, you must remember that just because you are not an officer does not mean you can live a maritime life without rules. There is such thing as decorum."

"I have a bad feeling this will be a lot of work," I murmured, suddenly taking note of the blank letter to my Adam. I had been so occupied with Bennett that I had completely forgotten about it. "Hey, Bennie," I said, tapping him gently on the shoulder with my forefinger.

"Yes, Jack?"

"Do you know anything about writing letters?"

My legs were aching from the day's drill. Bennett made sure that I was always productive, and therefore made me run back and forth from the magazine to the batteries to deliver the gun cartridges to the firing crew. And while I was panting and heaving the explosive ammunition, Will and Dan took advantage of my sudden energy and decided to be lazy bastards and have me do all their bloody work. It was not at all to my liking, and by the end of the drill, I was panting and sweating like a race horse all because of Bennett's constant shouting of orders.

Thankfully, we were done with our drills, and now I was pleasantly on the Afternoon Watch, again under the supervision of Bennett. It had been a couple of weeks since we had had our peacemaking done and things were going quite well between us. But amidst it all, I always noticed that while Bennett and I developed a greater friendship, my own partnership with Roland was dwindling rapidly. The only time we ever talked to one another was if he was giving me orders or during our lessons with Dr. Cavanaugh. Other than that, there was nothing, and I missed my brother. Of course, Bennett was a fine and lovely lad to be around with, and I always had Dobbin and Andre, but Roland understood me better than any of them. Plus, I could talk or write to him about my odd run-ins with Lonan. But he was never there for me to talk to.

On watch though, Bennett gave me little time to think to myself and was still painfully determined to bombard me with exercises. Up the ratlines and down. Do this, do that. And he even sent me to inform the captain of the weather. I found it incredibly stupid, not to mention embarrassing, for after I had barged into Captain Carlisle's cabin very inelegantly with a rushed salute screaming out, "Fair winds, sir! Fair winds!" he merely sat at his desk, staring at me with a most amused and befuddled face. After several minutes of quaint silence, I clumsily exited with my fore-knuckle to my brow, and I _knew_ Captain Carlisle was still stunned as I left.

When I returned from my weather report to the captain, I found Bennett promptly waiting for me at the larboard bow of the ship, his face pinching in an undecipherable mix of God knows what. He looked happy to see me, but his brows were knitted somewhat forcefully with deep concentration. Wondering what on earth he was thinking, but slightly agitated that he did not praise me for completing yet another simple and humiliating task, I sighed noisily and stuck my hands on my hips, glaring at him. "Bennett, why the hell did you make me tell the captain of our 'fair winds'?" His face contorted all the more, and he sucked in a breath, only to choke on it and explode into laughter.

"Damn you, Bennett!" I yelled, punching his arm as he continued to cackle uncontrollably. The lad even needed to hug his giggling innards to keep himself from completely collapsing onto the deck in a mess of wheezes and snickers.

"I'm…"—More laughter—"S-Sorr…"—Even more laughter—"-ee…"—_More_ laughter—"Jack, I couldn't'…"—All the more ridiculous laughter—"…resist."

"Oh, jus' 'cause I'm a gullible dope permits you to trick me?" I demanded, so tempted to slap his face so that he'd stop, but I had to admit, I was on the verge of smiling myself at his oh-so-clever joke.

"You were just so obedient. I decided to take advantage of that." His laughs were finally ebbing and he was down to soft titters.

"Lovely, ya arsehole," I griped sarcastically, whacking his top hat off his head. That finally grabbed his attention and he looked at me suddenly, eyes wide and ablaze with excitement and jocularity.

"Did you just knock my hat off, Jack?" He took a daring step forward towards me. I stiffened my jaw and held my head high in the air very arrogantly.

"I did," I replied proudly.

"Well then," he said calmly, the wild white glimmer in his eyes vanishing, "that doesn't give me much incentive to fight fairly, now does it?"

Rapidly, he slapped my own hat off with his arm and while I was distracted with my dear pirate hat being cast away to the floor, he sped off like a bullet to escape my rising desire to obtain vengeance for my poor hat. "You bastard!" I cried, speeding after him fore and aft.

Despite my excessive training earlier that day, I caught up with him and leapt onto his back, playfully beating his shoulders. While he replied to my teasing acts of violence with fake ows and scowls, our fun was suddenly annihilated with a ferocious yell coming from the helm.

"What is going on here?" shouted a man from behind us. Bennett and I immediately stopped our fooling and turned around to confront the man what interrupted our fun. I was having such a good time, too.

It was First Lieutenant Thorne and he and his smelly white wig came marching towards us with bloody fire in his eyes. "Mister Bennett," he said fiercely through his grinding teeth, "What was that mongrel doing on your back?" Stunned, Bennett took an awkward glance at me and I only growled inside for Thorne calling me a damn mongrel.

"I wasn't hurt, sir," said Bennett. "We were just playing and—"

"_Playing_?" squawked Thorne. "You are a very successful midshipman of seventeen and you and this boy were _playing_? Both of you are on watch! What do you think this ship is? A pleasurable yacht ride?" spat Thorne, pointing a stiff finger at me and my shocked countenance.

"Apologies then, sir," said Bennett solemnly. "It won't happen again. I am to supervise Barlow here on becoming a better seaman, as commanded by the captain." Thorne arched an eyebrow and stared questioningly at me and then back to Bennie.

"Don't allow him the freedom of fun. Beat him to the ground until he has no other choice but to stand up." With a huff and final glower at me, he turned on his heal and returned to his post beside the coxswain, and I looked daggers to his back.

"Bloody little cad," I mumbled. "Can't the man understand that we're still little wee boys an' that we _must_ have some excitement on this boring ol' ship?" I looked up at Bennett and he looked away, suddenly reminded of his duty. "Oh, don't let Thorne get to ye, mate. He's just old and he don't remember what it's like to be a lad."

"No, Jack. He's right. We all have our duties, and he is also correct in the process of your reform. I _must_ break you down until you have no other choice but to rise." He took in a breath and looked to the horizon instead of me. "Up the topgallant and back… _now_," he ordered. Bewildered and gawking at him, I was pulled to do my duty and reluctantly scurried up the lines and back down again in double time.

I was famished by the time we were given our supper. I didn't get the chance to finish my dinner, on account of the fact that Bennie had drilled me some more, and therefore my stomach was empty and growling louder than a rabid dog by the time the bell was rung for us to head down to the galley.

The usual portion of stew and hardtack, I eagerly seized and gobbled down, which was surprising because about three months ago, I wouldn't have eaten half of it. Like Andre and almost every other sailor on the ship, I had developed the habit of tapping the rock-hard biscuit on the tables to get the damn bugs out, and certainly a few would fly out, but they were gone from the food, and that made it good enough to eat after barely eating anything the whole day.

My sea biscuits had been demolished into tiny crumbs on my square wooden dish, and all that was left of my stew was the brownish gravy pooling together in the center of the tray. With a shrug, I lifted the tray up to my face and was about to lick the sauce off when I heard a gentle, "Might I join you?" enter my left ear. I froze and looked up, my tongue already out to lick to gravy when I saw Roland welcoming himself to a seat opposite me.

"Go ahead," I said, neither welcoming nor hostile. Knowing it was just him I was around, I licked the sauce off and, with that done, finally looked him in the eye.

He didn't seem to look very happy at all. His light brown eyes had that grayness about them again and he looked rather pale and hollow. Poor brother. My sisterly urgencies were itching to come out and hold him and make him smile again, but I was not a sister on the ship. I was a brother, and I did not really know how to cheer up Roland in a brotherly manner. He remained taciturn for a few minutes before finally returning my glance and he did not look the least bit happy.

"I found this in your sea chest," he said quietly, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a yellow envelope. I wondered why he was even looking through my things and I took it that it was the only way for him to be informed of what was going on in my life, for it was clear that he _was_ dreadfully concerned about me.

"It's a letter I wrote," I said softly. "To Adam." There was silence after that, and I pushed the letter back to him with faint timidity, fearing that he'd suddenly explode and rip it to shreds.

With a jolt, he pursed his lips and banged his fist on the table, giving me one hell of a shock. "What were you thinking when you decided to write it?" he demanded, his eyes now brewing with some sort of storm. This Roland was truly different from the one I knew. He was more like Daddy. Kind when he needed to be and absolutely furious when things demanded ferocity.

"What? I can't go out to sea without know how my family—"

"Jack," he interrupted. "You _cannot_ write letters to people you know."

"And why not?" I challenged, grabbing the letter on the table and stuffing it in my vest.

"Have you gone back to being a simpleton, Jack? Adam would tell them where you are. Where _we_ are. And you'd be off home before you know it."

"He wouldn't do that," I protested. "He's honest. If I tell him to keep a secret, he keeps it. I trust him."

"Just how you trust Bennett?" he mocked. My face was beginning to grow hot with anger and I felt my eyes burning with acid tears.

"What does he have to do with anything?" I yelled, feeling my face trembling with the need to cry.

"Much," he answered bitterly, closing his lips and sucking at his teeth as he looked away. "You've gone completely against us, Jack," he said petulantly. "Taking Bennett's side. You never talk to us anymore. Even Andre's getting a bit peeved and you're his bunkmate. And if you're takin' Bennett's side, well, you're takin' Griffith's side, too."

"I am not!" I objected, about to rise from my seat in heated dispute. "All of you never take the time to talk to me jus' 'cause I'm with Bennett. He's teachin' me to be a better seaman, that's all. Ya can still find me in the rigging and talk. But ye don't do any of that."

"We could have taught you those things if you just asked!" bellowed Roland, actually rising from his seat and shouting out everything on his mind once and for all. "Why the hell did you need to go to Bennett? My God, Jack, we're the best mates you can possibly have on this ship!"

"It was under the captain's orders, Roland!" I returned, slapping my hands on the table. "_Captain's _orders. I didn't choose so stop telling me that—"

"Fine!" he burst. "Ya don't want our help, that's fine. We'll see where you end up when Griffith frames you for something and Bennett doesn't bail you out. We'll see who was right and who was wrong, Jack. We'll see."

"If you remember correctly, _you_ decided to come along! I didn't make the decision for you!" I called as he got up and stalked down the deck, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. He continued walking, ignoring my cry. "Roland!" I stomped towards him, hurrying my steps so that he wouldn't be out of reach. I reached out to grab his shoulder but he shoved me off.

"Fine!" I wailed, feeling something wet slide down my face. "I don't need yer help anyway! I'll be fine on me own, ya careless bastard!" Whirling around and tromping over to my hammock, I swiftly wiped my face with my sleeve before anybody else saw me sniveling.

"Jack!" came a call.

I did not heed it.

"Jack!" it came again, and I felt someone poke my shoulder. "I've got good news… Jack?" A hand grabbed my own and tried to lift it from my weeping face, but I pulled it away, knowing that I would have appeared too much of a fairy if Bennett saw that I was crying.

"I'm tired, Bennett," I replied without trying to sob. "Leave me alone. Tell me tomorrow."

"Oh, c'mon, Jack." He sent a playful punch to my shoulder.

"Bennie, I'm in no mood to—"

"Captain says we're going to Portsmouth! He's supposed to meet the admiral there for new orders, even though we haven't destroyed our enemy yet, but we will. There's the possibility that we'll be going to—"

"Look, Bennett!" I screamed finally revealing my wet face to him. "I'm in a bit of a dilemma right now and I don't need you to tell me we're changing course! Of course we are, for God's sake! We can't sail around the bloody Caribbean forever, now can we?" I left it at that and plunged my face back into my arms and closed my eyes, wishing that Bennett would appease me and leave. And the lad was smart enough to do so.


	13. Black Night

_Chapter Thirteen: Black Night_

**W**ith a grunt, I toppled over a coil of rope on the deck and stumbled to my feet, my arms extended before me in the thick blackness. I was on the First Night Qatch with Griffith as the governing office. But a few days had passed since my argument with Roland, and even the news of a possible change of course was not thrilling me as well as I would have hoped. Things had only gotten worse.

Bennett and the other lads were sound asleep in their cozy hammocks, and crude Willard was the other ship's boy on watch with me. To add to my misfortune, all lights were out, for fear of being discovered by our enemy, and I was stuck to wandering like a blind man amidst the inevitable dim of a moonless night.

Having recovered from my fall, I walked forward, and felt my way around only to run directly into a well-formed mass of lean muscle and supreme power.

"Watch where you're going," he snarled, grabbing my shirt sleeve and raising his free arm to swat me. His blue eyes were all I saw in the dark, and I found the same untamable and fiery insanity spark in them.

Stunned frozen, I braced myself, bones and flesh tensing to withhold his crushing blow, but the flash died and he released his grip on me, chuckling to himself. "Jack," he sang, patting my shoulder rather aggressively. "Run to the galley and get me some coffee, would you?" _Do it yourself, you snot. And why the hell d'ya want damn coffee for?_

Jerking my shoulder away from him, I trudged away—straight into the foremast— and heard the unfamiliar 'clunk' of my forehead against the wood. "Need a lantern?" he laughed.

"Ye know the rules, sir," I moaned, rubbing my sore brow. "No lights after dark."

"Oh, but Jack, it's just for a short time. Blow it out when you come back."

"But the enemy—"

"Tosh. The enemy has no information about our whereabouts. It's not bloody likely they'll attack while you're gone."

"I'm _not_ going to do it, sir," I growled, completely forgetting that I was speaking with the explosive and redoubtable Victor Griffith. White fury blazed in his eyes and he seized my arm before I could run away.

"You insolent swine!" he screeched, raising a fist to hit me. I ducked my head and tugged again on my sleeve, but it appeared as though it was nailed to him.

The first hit came down, knocking me hard on the head, and I thought for a moment that everything shifted into silence. And then, slowly, it grew into a deep thump ringing distantly in my pounding skull. My head rolled back and my eyes caught sight of a black ball ramming fast into the foremast, causing millions of wooden splinters to fly everywhere in the frustrating darkness.

I hit the floor, covering my arms with my head. I didn't know what happened to Griffith, but he had finally let me go. From afar I heard him shouting orders with a quaking voice, and I believed that even he, mighty Griffith, had a sense of cowardice in the turmoil of battle.

"Beat to Quarters!" Lifting my head, some shreds of wood fell from my hair and I jumped to my feet. I ran abaft, my eyes scanning the black ocean for the sails of our clever enemy.

The haunting silence seemed to come again, although the sailors on watch were now bustling to their posts and duties, and I stood dumb, facing the sea. Then commenced the bright flare shooting from amidships of our opponent, and my eyes grew wide as I took a rigid step back, unable to move, for the bright spark had told me to freeze.

"Down, lad!" came a shout from behind, and an arm hooked my neck and pushed me down while I recovered from my shock and curled into a tight ball underneath the protection of my rescuer. "Down to Doctor Cavanaugh, _now_, Jack," he said, knowing it was safe to stand and pulling me up to my feet. I felt a bit of shame from having being stricken numb by stupid cannon fire, for it was Captain Carlisle who had saved me.

I saluted shakily and scurried below decks.

I emerged into the surgeon's cockpit and saw Doctor Cavanaugh hurriedly setting up his operating table and tools. "Barlow reporting for duty," I said, bringing my knuckle to my brow. He looked up at me, his stressed face smiling with relief, and he beckoned me over.

"Just like last time, Jack. Get the sand ready. Water too," he ordered.

"Aye, sir."

I left to retrieve the items, trying my best to remain composed. Seeing more blood, wounds and dead bodies was not what I particularly desired after so many difficulties with my mates onboard, but it had to be done. Perhaps I could have been the difference between life and death for a man and that was not something I would decline. I was honored to help.

_I see the water  
And the blood on my hands  
I feel the water  
And the handfuls of sand_

_I hear their cries  
And the fading beat of heart  
I understand their fear  
And the wounding start_

_I see the blackness  
And mettle I lack  
I see the darkness  
But I shan't turn back…_

The French were very clever little bastards. Obviously, Griffith's assumption that the enemy had no knowledge of our location was blatantly _incorrect_, for now our ship was on the verge of becoming completely destroyed.

_Damn French. Damn Griffith._

The only thing I wondered at that moment was how they could have found us, for it was a moonless night and our ship had absolutely no lights on. The only way one could have found us in the murky dark would be if we _did _have a candle or some sort of lantern on. But we didn't. It was either that some unfortunate cove disobeyed the captain's rule and lit a candle, or the French had damned good eyes and could see in the dark. But I knew that the French weren't _that_ talented, and therefore we had a betrayer on the ship. Who it was, well, that was the least of my worries at the time.

Our poor ship was caught by so much surprise that men were filing down to the surgeon's cockpit like water from a pump. They'd continue to tumble down, the majority of them moaning and streaked with blood.

Due to the excessive number of men arriving, Doctor Cavanaugh ordered me to treat the less serious of wounds on the men and then dismiss them back up on deck to resume fighting. I'd locate their injury, dress it with a bandage, make them swallow a spoonful of thick white paste and then send them off. Many of them were eager to leave, judging by the way they took one look at the operating table and gagged.

Doctor Cavanaugh also made me in charge of administering the sewing of flesh as well. The man would come, point to the open gash in need of closure, and I'd take a needle (already used many times a-forehand), loop in some thread and then poke it through the sailor's flesh. He'd wince, and I'd just pull all the harder for time was against me. I was expected to do that and bandage limbs in under a minute due to the growing number of wounded coming down. Word had it that our damned enemy was lying alongside, preparing to board and take the H.M.S _Resolve_ as a prize.

"Make way for the captain!" barked a man coming down the ladder to the surgeon's cabin. Lieutenant Throne stormed down, his face marked with a red line across his cheek. Behind him stumbled Captain Carlisle, who did not look in very good shape. His hat was missing, his head hung low, and his legs were weak.

"Jack, aid Mister Thorne and get the captain here quickly," commanded Cavanaugh. I nodded and rushed forward, supporting Captain Carlisle from the other side while Thorne had the other.

"What is his injury, sir?" I asked, amidst the yells coming from the current patient on Doctor Cavanaugh's table.

"A few cuts across the face and what seems to be a leg wound. The enemy has boarded our ship and we've been fighting hordes of those damned French. He's exhausted," replied Thorne, for once speaking to me in a more agreeable tone. "Whatever you must do, do it. I need to get back on deck. The men won't hold long." We reached Cavanaugh and I was told to get the current patient off the table and so I dragged the man off, with him still screaming, and to quiet his useless screams over a mere stitch on the leg, I gagged him with a bandage.

"Jack!" cried Doctor Cavanaugh. "He has a deep gash across his neck. You treat it. More men are coming. I can't be occupied."

"Aye, sir!" I said, wrapping an arm around Captain Carlisle and helping him away from the operating table. "Can ye stand, sir?" I asked, stepping back away from him to check his wound. He nodded, wincing. His white collar was damp with his blood and I tore it away and twitched at what I saw. A bandage wouldn't heal the gash. It needed to be stitched.

"Sir, if you please," I began, running over to the medicine chest and rummaging through numerous bottles of anesthetics. The simple white paste wouldn't do as a lenitive for the gash. I found a better anesthetic, one applied directly to the skin: a liniment, and with that done, I took a clean needle and began to sew up the slash, which was rather difficult, for it was on the poor man's neck.

_Bang!_

I veered my head towards the ladder leading to the cabin and saw a sailor tumble down, a bullet hole in his chest. _Dear God._

A few chuckles came from the men who paraded down afterwards, speaking softly to each other in the romantic French language. My hands dropped the needle and I stood frozen in place, wondering what the hell was to be done. The enemy had found us, and what good would Cavanaugh and I be with a group of dead and wounded men?

"Dammit," I breathed. "Cavanaugh!" Abandoning Captain Carlisle and scurrying to the doctor's side, I whispered, "What are we going to do?" Cavanaugh looked uncertainly at me. His eyes were scanning my own for any possible solution, but none was coming.

"Oh, _Docteur_!" taunted the intruders walking calmly towards us, waving pistols and swords in the air. At least five more men sauntered down the stairs, each smiling with satisfaction at our sight. They thought us easy game. Perhaps even sport.

"Do ye have a sword, sir?" I asked quickly, gradually inching back to Captain Carlisle as the French advanced. Cavanaugh shook his head. I gulped and felt my stomach tossing and turning and twisting with apprehension. I felt neither fear nor immense worry. I felt… excited to the point where I was sick with the thrill.

"All right," I nodded. "That's fine. You keep working. I'll fight."

"No, Ja—" I didn't let him finish because I leapt towards Captain Carlisle's conscious, but weak body and grabbed the pistol from his belt, cocked it and fired a shot. The blast rung in my ears as a stream of smoke was left behind and I heard a man fall down.

My eyes locked on those of the enemy and their eyes flamed with hatred. _Oh, Dammit, Astrid! _Knowing nothing else to do, I stole Captain Carlisle's sword from its scabbard.

"Well," I sighed. "Here it goes. I hope your fencing lessons were worthwhile, Daddy." I sprinted forward, whizzing passed Doctor Cavanaugh's stunned face and straight for the enemy.

One of them fired a shot from a pistol and narrowly missed hitting my head. Swerving to the left, I met the cutlass of the closest Frenchman, and looked up at him, then down at his feet. _Remember their feet, Astrid. Remember—_

I felt something touch my back and I cast a nervous glance backwards and saw the tip of a pistol on my spine. _Damn! _The Frenchman had his finger on the trigger, and the one I had crossed swords with was now holding the point to my neck. "Well," I said, "this is rather uncomfortable."

With a squeal, I ducked and rolled, cutting my neck on the sword tip of the cutlass, but missing getting shot in the back with a bullet. In fact, I had dipped down in time and the Frenchie with the gun hit the Frenchie with the blade, leaving one dead, and the other shocked that he had just terminated his own comrade.

I took advantage of that and tried to crawl away, but someone seized my leg and hauled me up, sticking the nose of a pistol to my forehead. "_Adieu_," he snickered. His finger was on the trigger, curled and ready to pull and the shot came, blasting around my ears and I gave a cry and was suddenly dropped to the ground, something wet on my head and… and…

I was not dead.

"Are you all right?"

I unbolted my locked eyelids and discovered dear Bennett leaning down and helping me up, with a large Frenchman standing right behind him, wielding a raised axe.

"Wait!" I shouted, jumping up and jutting Captain Carlisle's sword into the Frenchman's body. I happened to hit his shoulder and I pulled the blade out, panting as the man crumbled to the floor. I faced Bennie, smiling through all the gore and chaos. "Now I'm all right."

"Good," he replied shakily.

"_Vous le petit bâtard!_" bellowed a Frenchie that was storming towards us.

I held my sword in front of me, ready to take on his blow, but he didn't cross swords with me. Instead, he cuffed my face with an iron fist and I was thrown back, dropping Captain Carlisle's sword. I felt something hard in my mouth and I tasted the saltiness of my own bleeding jowl. I spit out whatever was in my mouth and had a tooth come out. _Oh great, _I thought. _When Adam sees me again, I'll be a toothless porridge eater._

While still lying on the floor with aching limbs, the Frenchman ran up and raised a cutlass directly over my chest. His dark eyes were mad with the hunger to kill and he grinned a wicked grin that only made me seethe all the more. The point came rushing down and I rolled over and kicked him between the legs. I stretched over and took the cutlass from him and skewered his torso, pushing the blade as far in as I could. He gave a groan every time I pushed the blade through and in a sudden bloodcurdling 'crack' the tip of the cutlass broke through the man's back, showered in his blood.

Fighting alongside Bennett, we were able to kill off any Frenchie who dared to come down to the surgeon's cockpit, leaving Doctor Cavanaugh and Captain Carlisle safe from being taken captive or slaughtered as well. Bennett's main weapon was his trusted pistol, instead of a sword. Of course, if I had been using a pistol, I'd be fiddling with its triggers for the most part until I shot myself by accident. A sword, more importantly, Captain Carlisle's sword, served me very well. That was, until the end of the battle.

With a gasp, I hopped backwards, missing having my nose sliced off by a hair. The Frenchman muttered something before punching me in the gut, and with a grunt, I fell to the ground, rather hard on my bum, squeezing my stomach and glowering at the damn sailor of Old Bony's dreaded navy. "What ya gonna do?" I croaked. "Send me to France and cut off me head on one o' them guillotines o' yiz?"

"_Oui_," he replied with a cackle, clouting me about the face and making my bloody spit shoot from my immobile jaw.

"_Arrêt. Amener le garçon à moi_," said a man. The fist knocking my face stopped abruptly and left me, my swaying head, and my leaking nose, to observe the red uniformed man who calmly walked down the steps to the surgeon's cockpit. "Where isth _le capitaine_?" he said slowly in English, so that I could understand.

I slowly approached the French captain, and I listened to the bedlam of war fade in my ears as we locked glances. His dark eyes turned to one of his men, and with a laugh he spoke to his accomplice in French, pointing a finger at me.

"Would you be so kind asth to show me where _le capitaine_ isth then, boy?" he responded at last, sounding more like a snake with an accent than a man.

My mind was bending towards saying, no, but that would aggravate the captain, and he'd surely kill me with one slash of his blade. But I wasn't about to betray Captain Carlisle either. He was too good a man.

To my relief, I felt a hand squeeze my shoulder, and I turned and saw Bennett walking ahead of me, his face solid with fierce determination to keep the ship under British rule. His face was too tightly molded with pride to bow down to a Frenchman.

And to my dismay, the French captain ignored Bennett's advancement entirely, keeping his eyes fixed on my vulnerable self. I could feel myself crumbling under such a glare of authority and my mouth was already about to spit, "Captain Carlisle is right _there._"

And stupidly… _very _stupidly, my response came as thus:

"He's right here," I puffed, showing him Captain Carlisle's sword. "_I'm_ the captain." Bennett's eyes bulged and the French captain merely laughed at me, as did his men. The other Britons, might I add, were silent as the grave at my act, hoping that it would go smoothly. "And _I_, as the _captain_, challenge _you_ to a duel…" I said, extending a hand of agreement. "To the death," I added.

I did not know what had taken over me. My dumb, self-sacrificing idiot of a self was coming out, and again, it chose to reveal itself at the most inappropriate time, for not only did I put my life in danger, I was basically belittling our captain by taking his place. Either way, I knew the consequences would be dire.

"If you be the _true_ captain," snickered the Frenchie, "then it isth my pleezure to duel with you." He shook my small little hand and we were off.

The men cleared away from our dueling circle, Britons on one side, Frenchies on the other. _Oh, please Daddy. Hopefully your lessons were enough,_ I thought as we raised our swords vertically, parallel to our bodies before we actually began. "Any last words?" I asked, hoping to appear too confident for my own good in the unlikely hope of the French captain surrendering.

"Yesth," he responded. "Your name, so that I may execute you properly." I smirked and lowered my blade and beckoned him to take the first move.

"They call me Jackaroe."

"Capitaine Zha-que-roe," echoed the Frenchman, crossing blades with me. My heart was pounding like a drum in my chest and I could barely hold his dark stare as he bore into my thoughts. "I vwill not honor you with_my_ name," he scoffed, and in that quick instant, his fine French blade flashed in the dim of the surgeon's cockpit, steering me completely off guard and in as quick as a simple blink of an eye, he sent a most beautiful cut against my left cheek.

The flesh around the gash stung terribly, making my face contort in biting discomfort, and the warm blood oozed from the cut and dripped slowly to the polished wooden floor. "I'll get ye back for that, ya cheap French bastard," I threatened, smearing away the blood with my sleeve. Squeezing the hilt of my blade all the tighter, I leapt forward and thrust, only to have it parried easily. Perhaps _too _easily for him, for as soon as he tossed away my attack, he brought his blade up and slapped me across the face with it, its silver flash still blinking in my eyes when I realized what he had done.

"Surrender yet?" he asked contemptuously, advancing his blade to my chin. I eyed his weapon, seeing its edge painted red from my own blood and then glowered back at him.

Bravely, I met swords with him again, though I had the increasing fear that I would lose and die. Of course, now that I had challenged him, I was fighting not for myself but for my mates and commanding officers. To defy my French opponent was positively the most stupid thing I had ever done in my life.

Again, I dashed forward and maneuvered my blade, bending my wrist in crooked movements, all the while not getting anywhere with him. He simply deflected all swings and countered with more powerful and tricky movements, pushing me farther back and clearly gaining power over the fight. I was doomed. How stupid could I have been to think that I could have taken a damn _captain_ who was probably more experienced in swordsmanship than I would ever be? _I might as well, surrender, _I thought. But I shook my head. _No. This is not about me. This about my mates. Think of Roland… Dobbin… Andre… and Bennie. Yes… Bennie. Oh, Bennie, you should be terribly frightened for me, and if not, you bloody should be._

My thoughts proved to be my demise, for the next time I truly _looked_ at what was going on instead of just _seeing_ it, the Frenchman had grabbed me by the collar and hauled me to a wall where he commenced to rap me repeatedly with the metal hilt of his sword. _Oh, why, why did I choose to be the hero and show off and—_

Both the French and the British had lost their composure by then and the rules of a proper duel were broken. Men charged forward, howling like wolves as they continued to kill each other. And through the disarray, I hoped to elude the tricky French captain, but he was too intent on killing me, and before I knew it, he had caught me by my hair and yanked me backwards.

With his free arm, he seized my twig-like neck and began to throttle me, pushing me higher against the wall so that my feet dangled and my own weight would snap my neck.

Gasping for breath and kicking and crying, my hands went limp and Captain Carlisle's sword fell unceremoniously to the ground in a clatter. I was going to die. So much for dying with honor. I was being choked and beaten by a man who spoke a language I did not even understand. I was an idiot to think I could save everyone. Why did I think I had to do that in order to prove myself? There could have been other ways… there could have been—

My forehead was given a bruising whack and strange lights flickered in my wet eyes before I felt my head sway and I saw nothing more.


	14. Safe and Sound

_Chapter Fourteen: Safe and Sound_

"**D**amn," was the first thing I heard someone hiss as I slowly regained my beloved consciousness. It was a strange thing too, for I did not expect to be greeted back to realization with the word, _damn_. After all, I had undergone a horrible fight with a French captain and nearly died for it, and yet I was welcomed with a very aggravated, _damn_, instead of the normal, "Are you feeling better, Jack?"

Following the swears came the deep vibration of an instrument. Its pitch clung to the air, giving it a well-needed relaxation and peace about the area, only to be cut off abruptly with another growl. There was only one person that I knew to have an instrument of such high and lovely quality. It was Bennett and his humming violin, and my mind was urging me to regain my bearings more swiftly so that I could see him and speak with him.

With a moan, I stiffly propped my back up against the pillow in my hammock and attempted to widen my eyes just a wee bit more. To see Bennett, or any other face I knew for that matter, was well worth the painful rigidness of my body. "Why are ya so frustrated?" I asked, squinting at him through my right eye. My left was refusing to cooperate with me and I was obliged to keep that eye shut. I scratched my head, and my fingertips grazed a coarse mess of bumps and swelling flesh. I presumed that it was the place where Doctor Cavanaugh had sewed my bruised and bashed head.

It certainly hurt terribly in the back of my head, with every second and every heartbeat came a following pulsing throb that ached and made it impossible for me to sit up straight for long. Too much blood was pounding towards my injured head and I could not withhold the agony. I wanted laudanum to ease the hurt, but I doubted that I'd be given any more on account of my easily obtained drunken state.

The screeching of Bennett's instrument stopped, and his eyes locked on mine, open with pleasure and relief at the sight of me being awake. "Greetings, Jack," he said, setting his violin carelessly onto a nearby table and walking briskly towards me. He took a seat on the outer edge of my hammock, making it lean on an angle towards that side (and therefore making me tilt to the right) and only looked at me all the more interested. "How's that head of yours? Did I wake you with my unpleasant musical abilities?" Before I could answer his first question, he leaned forward and laid his hands on my churning head and gently prodded certain places and observing my reactions to see specifically where I was most hurt.

"Ya didn't wake me, Bennie. I woke up on me own. And your playing isn't unpleasant. It's entirely very pleasant. I like it. Why were you getting angry?" I asked, before giving a yelp because Bennie had touched the spot on my head where Cavanaugh conducted his main operation.

"Sorry," he apologized with a slight grimace, and he kindly gave a few more gentle pats on the back of my head. "And as for the curses I was unleashing, well, it's really nothing. I was just getting a bit angry at myself because I was trying to make a song."

"Really?" I replied, a bit excitedly. Bennett was indeed far more talented than he thought himself to be. "What's it called? How's it sound like? Will you play me what ye have so far?" He laughed and signaled for me to be silent and I pressed my lips shut in a smile.

"Here, swallow this." He stood up, his weight lifting off the side of my hammock and putting it back into balance. He walked over to the table where his violin sat and gathered a cup and dish. Upon his return he handed the glass to me and scooped up some white stuff from the dish with a small spoon.

"To ease the pain, I assume?" I predicted, trying to raise an eyebrow at him, but failing. My brow was still too sore from the French captain's assaults. _Wait… French… I thought…_ "Bennie," I began. He motioned for me to open my mouth and in it he placed the spoon with the medication, and I swallowed the thick, sour tasting paste down with a gag. "How are we still on the ship? I thought the French—"

"Still wondering about that, aye?" he interrupted, turning away to return the glass and dish to the table. "Well, to make a long story short because I know you lose interest if I talk too much, which I do often. For you to challenge the captain of our enemy was quite unorthodox, especially considering that you are a ship's boy. Your courage and decision to brave all and save us gave the rest of us Britons quite a boost in morale and while we watched you being beaten by that French bastard, well, we would not give up without another fight."

"Where was Captain Carlisle all that time?"

"Still with us. The liniment you had given him had finally eased his pain and he could focus more on leadership than the sting in his wounds. He was fighting through the crowd with his bad leg, trying to interfere before you died, but as soon as you fell to the ground unconscious, he rushed forward and shot the Frenchman in the back, and after that, you would have been surprised at how mighty we men of blessed Britain were, Jack. We slaughtered the French and took her ship as a prize!" I gave a sigh of relief. The captain had still retained his honor, and I had lost mine.

"That's brilliant!" I cried, feeling the analgesic finally move through my body and get me into a more harmonious mood. "Where's the enemy's ship? Who's captaining it while we are sailing?"

"First Lieutenant Thorne. Only a handful of men are onboard that ship as of now, and all that is left of the French crew is in our brig. We are headed for Portsmouth to regroup, refit both ships and assemble a crew for the newly captured ship. We should stay in Portsmouth a week, maybe more, which would make it my longest stay in my homeport since I left it five years ago." He paused and looked up, as if he was imagining his future stay there, probably with his dearest Marie.

"D'ye think we could go to London?" I asked. "I've never been there and I'd like to just see—"

"Why certainly, Jack. We could visit London," he interrupted. "I'll show you around Portsmouth first. You'll like it there. A very lively town."

"Splendid. Show me all the brothels there and I'll be content." I gave him a wink and he blushed red, shaking his head from side to side.

"Jack," he sighed. "You'll end up getting the pox or plague with your wanton desires."

"Pox?" I echoed, scratching my blood-crusted head. "What's that?"

"An infection. You are covered with red dots and it is a fatal disease. Very few survive it and many of the lowly who resort to prostitution and fornication contract it and spread it to those they have bedded. Best watch out."

"I ain't _that_ stupid, Bennie. Besides, I was joking wi' ye. I'd never do such a thing. I'm clean."

"Of course you are," he mocked disbelievingly, and I punched his arm with pathetic strength in return.

"I may have a mouth for lyin' but I don't lie 'bout that, Benito," I growled, crossing my arms over my chest. "Jack Barlow ain't like Griffith who'd happily bed any woman for that matter. Now if _he_ got the pox, I wouldn't be surprised. Good riddance, it'd be."

"Not for us, it would. We need his leadership," said Bennett matter-of-factly and I snorted in response.

"Leadership. Hell, Griffith don't care about leadership. All he wants is to get us bowing at his feet and kissin' his ring-covered hands and to have a whole bordello surrounding him with affection. Not to mention about a thousand treasure chests full of riches to pay for it all," I grumped. "He wouldn't care if we all died. Even you."

"I'm sure he would. No one can be that heartless."

"I fear Griffith has deceived you then, for he is the most heartless cad in the entire world, Bennie. Believe naught of what he says. And if you say you don't have anyone else to listen to, then listen to _yerself_, which is what you should have been doing from the beginning, lad." His eyes hardened and he set his lips in a prim line and looked as if he was going to tell me off.

"That's very bold of you, Jack," he scorned. "Perhaps _too_ bold. I don't need you to tell me what I should do. I am, after all, the senior mid. I know better."

"Don't use your title as an excuse," I murmured. His visage wrenched in pure abhorrence. "Fine. Use it as an excuse, but it certainly ain't a reason," I huffed.

"Watch your mouth, Jack," spat Bennett in reply. I shrugged him off. "I mean it. One more word and I will report you."

"So much for friendship then, aye?" I returned, eyeing him with a stare that said, 'You know I'm right, so drop the subject.' And it worked. With a sharp sigh steaming out of his nose, he turned around and stomped up the stairs to the deck above, and I watched him leave, smiling to myself.

A few weeks passed. My head healed well, and I returned to doing my routine schedule of chores as a ship's boy. My relationship with Roland though, only collapsed all the more. After the whole big battle with the French, Roland only distanced himself farther away from me. When I was still unable to work because of my head injury, Roland visited not once. Not once.

Everyone else took the time to visit, even the _captain_ and yet Roland remained the stubborn arse and did not come see me. I suspected that even if I died, the lad wouldn't care. And it was a worry that continued to plague my mind, leaving me focusing less on my orders and more on why Roland was so angry with me. _Dear brother, where do you think your running feet will get you if you have no clear idea of where you wish to go?_

Bennett seemed to understand my problem with Roland and many a time tried to arrange things so that he and I would meet. But they never fulfilled their purpose. Roland would glower at me and then would stomp off, ignoring Bennett's orders. And if Bennett had not been such a soft-hearted gentleman, Roland would have been flogged for his insubordination.

I was through with denying myself any longer. I missed Roland. I missed my brother.

But he did not miss me…

One night when I was on watch with Bennett, I could barely stay awake. I knew I had to, for there was no telling when we might encounter pirates or other possible threats to the British Navy, but I couldn't. My eyes encumbered with the need to sleep and Bennett finally agreed to my dozing off for just a half hour or so. He promised to watch over me so as to keep my secret slumber unnoticed by the officer of the watch, which was Lieutenant Johnson. A quarter of our men were on the French ship, and thankfully white-haired Lieutenant Thorne and gruesome Griffith were part of that quarter. I would not have to worry about too much punishment if I was caught sleeping on watch.

I clumsily climbed the shrouds to the foretop with the weight of laziness falling on my limbs. I wanted to sleep so badly. Just… _sleeeep_. Bennett said he'd follow after me to keep watch, but made sure not to seem too forward or else our plan would not work. As my hand knocked against the wooden foretop, I sighed with happiness and used up the rest of my energy to get my body on the platform and fall asleep, and as soon as I was comfortably lying down, my mind was dead with sweet slumber.

My brain was not so dead after all, for soon after I fell into the blackness of sleep, my dream was invaded with a terrible storm. It was night and I was on a ship by myself. No one was at the wheel. No one was anywhere. I was alone, standing in the middle of the rocking ship and seeking for some help. Anyone… anything, just a hand to help guide me to safety. "Daddy!" I cried. A hideous black wave roared from the water and broke against the empty ship, and I was drenched with the biting water and crawled over to the splintered mainmast for support.

Upon reaching it, I cried again. "Daddy! Roland!" There was nothing but the howl of the wind and the laughter of the spitting rain that answered, and I wrapped my arms around the mast tightly, whimpering to myself.

Another wave hit, the water rushing over me in an unbreakable torrent. All the while, I screamed for Jack. I screamed for him to come and take me away; to help me. But he never came. Neither did Roland. In my dream, I shut my eyes closed, allowing me to see the darkness that I felt in my heart, and the ship suddenly tilted, cracking and rocking about madly. "Please! Daddy!" I shouted. Something pulled on my leg, pulling me away from the mast I clung to for dear life. "Help me!" I screamed.

I heard the ocean moan and my eyes burst open, and I saw that my ship was sinking into the sea, being swirled about in a hideous whirlpool of dead souls, monsters and ribbons of blood. "Don't leave me! Please! Don't leave me!"

"Astrid!" came a faint call. My head shot up in the possibility of hope and rescue.

"Daddy!" I screamed.

"I'm comin', love!" it returned, being blown away with the breath of the wind.

"Don't let me die!" Whatever was pulling on my leg only tugged all the harder and I wailed as my grip around the mast was loosened. "Please, don't leave me…" I was jerked away from the mast and as I began to fall to hell's ocean, I felt a hand grab my own and I looked up, to meet the face of my savior.

"Daddy…" I smiled, and he looked as if he was about to pull me up, but then his face began to contort and change.

"Hello, love," he cackled, the skin on his face burning up and being devoured in flames. As his skin burned off, his voice morphed and he looked more like a demon than my father. His torching skin burned my hand and with a shriek, I was forced to let go of him, and into the pool of fears did I plummet into.

"N—" I woke up, about to scream out loud, but a hand covered my mouth and muffled my yowls. I recognized the touch of the hand and knew it was Bennett, and he remained loyal to me and did his best to make sure no one found out I was sleeping during my duty.

"Quiet, Jack," he whispered. "It's all right." I didn't realize that I had wet his hand with my crying, and he must have thought me highly feminine to do so, and if not feminine, then most likely a bleeding fairy. "You had a nightmare, mate. You'll do fine. Just relax." His orders were always the easiest to follow, for I was always more than willing to do whatever he asked me to. I didn't know why I was so obedient to him.

He finally released his hand from my mouth and put a finger to his lips to signal for me to stay quiet. I nodded and wiped my cold, sweaty brow with the back of my hand. "I… I'm sorry," I shuddered, finding it difficult to speak about such a horrid dream. "I can't escape my problems through sleep, Bennie. They keep comin' back. I'm gonna have to solve them or I won't rest at all. No wonder I've been so tired."

"You usually get better sleep after a nightmare. Go on and rest again. I'll keep watch still. By all means, you need it. You look like you've seen a ghost." _Because I have, _I thought. _Or at least something just as scary._ He punched my arm playfully and I grabbed his hat and pushed it down over his eyes. After we shared a few more laughs, I decided to take his advice, and trusting that I'd be safe under his wing, I closed my eyes and slept again.

The next morning was very bleak and dreary. A storm was just waiting to gush from the melancholy clouds and unleash the untamable sea's wrath upon us and our poor ships. I was up in the rigging, fixing a line and knotting a few ropes here and there. I enjoyed my time up high above the steady deck. I wasn't sure why, for before, I was quite terrified of the height, but now I couldn't help but love it up there. It made me feel as up in the clouds as my mind was at all times. Plus, up there, I was a bit safer from a man's wandering eyes.

It had occurred to me that when I'd pass by some sailors, they'd turn their heads and look at me, their faces all wrinkled in confusion or curiosity. At first, it wasn't a bother. I simply believed that they were admiring how I was becoming a better seaman, or that they were just amused with my youth (which they very much lacked), but it slowly came to my attention, after a chilling incident with Lonan, that the men were _looking_at me, up and down. Was it all too obvious that I was a woman? My hair was even shorter than before, cut very close to my head because Doctor Cavanaugh had to operate on me, so I could not have had the face of a woman.

Perhaps it was my figure, but that did not make sense either. I wore loose clothes that hid my tiny waist. Sure, my clothes were becoming a bit small after numerous uses of them, and many a time Bennett had requested me go down to the ship clerk and ask for some cloth to make myself new clothes, but that was busy work. I could barely sew a seam. What made them think I would succeed in making myself my own clothes? I resolved to wait until we reached Portsmouth before I got myself new apparel.

Then, that stormy morning, I was out on the quarterdeck with Andre, doing a jig with him. Hawley was playing on his fiddle and another sailor was piping away on a flute. The song was lively and upbeat and so, having taken dance lessons as a girl, Andre showed me a few steps and I mimicked them and soon we were off as a jigging duet.

Andre would take a turn and hop a few steps, and then it was off to me to repeat them. Only, whenever Andre danced, the lads would cheer and clap and laugh, but with me, they'd just pause and give their evil sniggers. I was beginning to get very frightened for my life. And Lonan decided to give me a taste of what the men were really thinking when they watched me dance.

When Hawley's fiddle stopped and our feet slowed down, Lonan marched right up to me and hooked his arm right around my chest and gave me a squeeze there, and my eyes were stricken with fear. "Aren't you just the loveliest dancer, eh, Jack?" he cooed in his grizzly voice. I gulped and tried to jerk away from him, and thankfully, Andre saw what was going on.

"Don't be touchin' him like that, Lonny," he said, prying Lonan's arm away from me. "He's jus' a bleedin' bugger," muttered Andre into my ear as he freed me from Lonan's clutch.

"Thanks, mate," I wavered, my body shaking. I decided to escape the daunting world of men for just a moment and have a few minutes to myself, and as I ran away from their wandering eyes, Lonan gave me a wink and I grew so sick with horror that I wanted to vomit.

But I had no one to turn to. Every man I confided in was busy with his duty. _Oh damn duty!_

_Roland,_ I thought as I locked myself in the head just to get my bearings. Strange a place indeed, but it was the only place I knew I'd be safe from any other man's wandering hand. With a sob caught in my throat, I whispered, "_I need you back, brother._"


	15. Thunder and Lightning

_Chapter Fifteen: Thunder and Lightning_

**T**he winds had picked up considerably by the time I had walked back on the top deck. The sails were bloated with the severe gusts of wind and the lines and rigging rattled about in unison. The waves thrashed against the boat with angry roars and the clouds thickened into dark puffs of uncontainable fury. But despite it all, I still wanted to find Roland and clear things up between us. As brother and sister, we normally did fine together, but as brother and brother, we continued to hurl fire at each other's scorched faces. I was burned enough, and I would not be burned any more.

It wasn't difficult to find Roland amongst the men. I spotted him at the stern of the ship, his top hat so distinguishable, on the poop deck with Andre, and I wisely decided not to hail him and reveal my arrival.

When I got close enough to him to hear what he was saying, he was asking Andre what life in England was like. I waited a while before I intruded, my tentativeness firmly controlling my actions. I merely contented myself with being ignored in their company. I was certain that they knew I was nearby, and I was sure that Roland noticed me and therefore tried all the harder to focus on his conversation with Andre. But if the storm came before I had a word with Roland, I would jump overboard. Of course, I was being a bit unreasonable there, but I would not live another moment if Roland and I were not back to good, old rarely quarrelsome siblings.

"Mister Turner?" I said at last. Andre's head turned to me and Roland simply scowled and glowered at the seething ocean.

"Hullo, Jack," said Andre, greeting me with a smile. "I wa' jus' talkin' to Mister Turner here, and we was talkin' about what it'd be like in Portsmouth."

"That's interesting, Andy," I replied, looking at him and then back at Roland's hunched shoulders. "But I need to talk with Mister Turner for just a moment."

"Sure, go ahead." He stepped aside and I took his spot beside Roland, leaning out over the edge of the deck and letting my eyes fall on the cobalt blue sea.

"I suppose you want to know why I'm here," I said, seeing that Roland would not speak or answer unless I did first. That was still very much like him to do so.

"I believe I already know," he sighed, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair. He'd grown it out, just as every other man had done.

"You've come to ask why I don't talk to you anymore; why I stay clear of mingling in your affairs and why I distance myself from you. And if that is the case, then you have come here to talk about it because you don't like not having me helping you and solving your predicaments. You want the assurance and companionship returned."

For the first time in months, Roland looked directly at me, his eyes mirroring the grey of the clouds. He did not look depressed. He looked tired, and his taut visage told me he was trying to hide his anger too much, but for the weak hope that the conversation would end peacefully, he remained composed.

"Yes," I answered. "I mean, yes, I've found some new mates to help me and I've been learning to solve things on my own, but you're still missing, Roland. I can trust you with anything I'll say and you'll protect my words. You'll protect _me_ and currently, I do not feel so safe anymore on this ship. Of course, I doubt I was even at all very safe, but I could always tell you things and you'd understand, but now… now… there's nothing. There's no Roland. No brother."

"You should have considered that when you decided to brave all and ignore my warnings. Besides, you have trustworthy Bennett and caring Dobbin and Andre to help you out, don't you?" he replied cynically, fire about to spurt from his hot mouth. "That is, after all, the path you chose. And well, I have my own path. Best keep our destinies separate." My nose twitched with just the faintest bit of intolerance but I swallowed any of my anger down. Fighting with him would not solve my problem.

"That's true," I admitted, "but I'm really scared now, Roland. You don't know what's been going on and I—"

"And I don't want to know!" he interrupted. "And, if you are so scared then why did you decide to join? Did I not tell you life on the ocean was no easy thing? Did I not tell you that things would be difficult!" He threw his hat on the floor and I could sense his buildup of emotion slowly escaping in bursts of anger and scorn.

"And they are. But I can't do everything by myself. Roland, the men are—"

"Oh, and what about the _scary_ men, Jack? You were brave enough to stand up to the damn French captain and be the hero of the ship and yet you are fearful of your own brothers on board!" he mocked, making my head bow low from the humiliation. "You're the _great_ Jackaroe! The bloody damn bastard who has the captain's favor and redoubtable courage and who has every blasted man on this damned ship adore him for his achievement!"

Roland was screaming so hard that my ears were ringing and the men who were nearby were giving us looks. I couldn't look at him and my nose was itching with snot and my eyes were watering with the flood of degradation.

"Why the hell should I pity _you_? Why should I help _you_, you wily son of bitch, when you obviously don't need the help! Aren't I just a dimwitted ass what don't know any better than _you_, oh great mighty one?"

_That_ plugged up my sniveling self and my eyes jolted towards him, blazing with anger and confusion. How could he have said that I was excelling at such an enormous rate? I wasn't. I was drowning in my own problems and he wouldn't even take the time to help me… despite all we've been through. But his words pushed fire into my head and I couldn't react in the way I had hoped.

"All _you_ bloody did was sulk and march off all day long!" I screamed. "Well, no wonder I've achieved more than you!" I took a step forward, my fingers stiffening as they desired to bend into a hard fist.

"You don't understand anything, dammit!" he screamed, a clear glaze of wetness covering his stormy eyes. "I'm your brother, Jack! It's my job to look out for you! Even back home I was always taught to look out for you! To be right by your side and what do you do? You put yourself in the hands of a backstabbing bastard like Bennett!"

"He's not a bastard!" I defended, stomping my foot, and my knuckles stretching moon-white. "And I told you it was under the captain's orders! And then you have the nerve to tell me that I don't understand when you don't either!" I was critically hurt when Roland had called Bennett a backstabbing bastard. The lad was far from one and strangely for me, I could not control my immediate defense for my newfound friend. I even felt tears well in my eyes.

"Oh, now you are going to weep, is that it, Jack? Weepin' for poor unarmed Bennett! Well let me tell this to you, Jackaroe," he roared, "Bennett doesn't need the help of stupid, inane simpletons like you! He could care less about you and your worthless asinine dreams." My patience broke, and like shattered glass my emotions fell into pieces. I became unstable, confused, and wounded and there was only one action that fit my feelings.

I felt threatened, and my fists were clenched and aching.

Roland stayed firmly in his place, his grey eyes glancing at my fists and he boiled with hot anger all the more.

"Go ahead and hit me, ya damned piece of—"

"I won't! I won't hit you!" I wailed, just simply hoping that he'd stop acting like such an ass, but it was useless. Brother was no more… "I never planned on taking you out of my life! I never meant to take away your opportunities and your dreams, but how could I have known? You refused to let me know!"

Roland was out of excuses. It was time for him to give his reasons, not his poor defenses, but the _truth_.

Only, he didn't want to.

"I hate you!" he spat. "You're better off on your own finding that filthy bastard father of yours by yourself. You can find that pathetic pirate swine and roll in a pool of horse shit until you drown!"

That pushed me over the edge. He had called Jack a filthy bastard and a dirty swine. He didn't know Jack. He had no right to say that about him.  
No. Right. At. All.

Fury pumped through my veins and before I knew it, I raised my fist and smacked Roland right in the jaw, causing him to stumble back. And I, foaming with ire, lunged at him, blind with my own hatred to stop myself. "Take it back!" I shrilled. "My dad ain't a filthy bastard and you know it! He's the best man in the world, God dammit!" I was yelling through my own sobs now, wrestling with Roland on the deck, rapping his face with my fist brainlessly. And he hit me back harder than I hit him.

"If he made you, well then he is without doubt the biggest goddamn cur in history!" sneered Roland, boxing the side of my head.

"Shut up!" I cried, pinning him to the floor and ready to clout his bruised face when a hand grasped my own and jerked me away from Roland.

"Get 'em up," commanded Mister Sumner, glaring at both Roland and me. "Call for the captain." Bennett was amongst the crowd and helped me up as Dobbin did the same for Roland.

"I pray that you die," muttered Roland, wiping his bloodied jaw with his sleeve.

"Likewise," I shot back before Mister Sumner sent me another glare and whacked my face good to get me to shut up. With a wet, bruised and bloody face, I was hauled away to Doctor Cavanaugh, and oddly enough, a clap of thunder boomed overhead, and it started to rain.

I was treated quickly by Cavanaugh. I did not have many open cuts or anything. Just bruises, for my row with Roland was thankfully stopped early by Mister Sumner, the bosun. I was given some medicine to stop the swelling and throbbing and soon after that, I was sent above decks once again.

Sadly, Roland was also up there, ordering some men about to tie the sails so that the extreme wind would not prove as the destroyer of a mast. So were Andre and Bennett, but Andre was up in the sails, and Bennett was busy with the other midshipmen measuring the speed of the boat in the storm winds. I was stupid to not have worn my coat when I walked on deck. Mother Nature was damned furious with us and freely enjoyed knocking our ship about with torrential waves and bullets of incessant rain.

"Boy! Up the foretopmast and tie the sails!" came Mister Sumner's call, followed by his shrieking whistle. "All hands on deck!" he yelled.

Running against the wind and feeling the gales blow the rain straight into my face, I scaled the ratlines, nearly falling off from a sudden wave that pummeled the larboard side of the ship. Lightning flashed in the sky, illuminating the dark atmosphere in a striking flash for less than a second. The growls and discontent of the clashing clouds bellowed all the louder above and swept wave after wave over our poor ship. I managed to cling for dear life to the shrouds when a wave banged against us, but quickly crawled up when I had my chance.

At last, I reached the foretopmast and quickly stepped onto a horse line and balanced myself as I reached over the yardarm and pulled on the slings of the sail. The salty sea water spewed from the sky and belted me in the face, making my eyes sting with the brackishness. I hurriedly pulled up the sail, panicky and with feet fumbling to stay on the line. I wasn't even sure why I was doing the work. I was not one of the foretop men. I was just a wee ship's boy. What good was I?

"Hurry up, lad! Storm's gettin' worse!" suggested the sailor working right beside me. He had finished tying up his part of the sail.

"I can't!" I yelled back, the howling wind sweeping my voice away. I was shaking from the cold and I couldn't find the other end of the rope to tie my sail together.

"Forget it then!"

"But my ord—" I was drenched in a wave and lost my footing. I gave a yelp and my arms reached for the yardarm and I managed to cling to it instead of falling to my death. I resolved to get down as quickly as possibly. The sky was nearly black with rage and the ocean water had turned a steely grey. _Just like Roland's eyes,_ I thought, as I crawled down the ratlines.

Suddenly, as I was climbing down, the ship tipped on a dangerous angle and I gripped the lines so tightly that my knuckles were stretched to their limits, and my face was pressed into the bristly rope for more security. A terrible wave had heaved up and smashed against the starboard side of the boat, gushing currents over the deck. It was so powerful that I heard wood creaking, and then unexpectedly _crack_ completely off the boat. The sounds were all I heard. I did not dare open my eyes until I knew it was entirely safe to go down again.

"_Man overboard!_" came the bosun's cry.

_Dear God, _I prayed. _Please let me live out this night. I'm sorry._

The ship regained balance as the waves gave us some leeway and quickly, I descended down the shrouds, landing on the deck with the sole intent on getting back below and avoiding further duty. Cowardice it would seem, yes, but I would not dare challenge the sea. I challenged a man and that was a mistake, and the all-powerful ocean would surely crush me if I even attempted to defy her.

I passed by the part of the ship that had broken off from the strength of the waves, and through the opening, I saw a hat in the water. But it wasn't just any hat.

It was Roland's.


	16. Portsmouth

_Chapter Sixteen: Portsmouth_

**I** spent less than a second thinking about what he had done to me and the fight we had had. They meant nothing to me. Friend or foe, he was still my brother. I grew up with him under the same house and no damn storm would take him away from me!

"Roland!" I shouted, leaning over the edge of the railing and staring out into the foaming ocean.

"Roland!" I screamed again, my eyes scanning frantically for his face, or any part of his body for that matter, drifting away in the sea. But I couldn't find anything.

Lighting bolted in the sky, surrounding the surface of the rabid ocean in a blinding white light, but it was gone before I could use it to my advantage. "Dammit," I moaned, biting my lip and feeling the rain spit at my eyes.

I didn't know what I was doing next. All I knew was that my body was moving me, and I wasn't just moving anywhere. I was moving _somewhere_ and that somewhere was to my brother.

"Andre!" I called, hailing him just before he ran down below decks.

"Aye!" he answered, fighting his way through the gusts and rain and towards me.

"Grab a line!" I ordered. "And cut it!"

"Why?" he questioned.

"Just do it!" I snapped. He reached for the nearest line and untied it. I waited for him no longer and snatched the line from his hands and tied it quickly around my waist.

"Jack, what the he—"

"Andre, Roland's out there, and I'm going to get him back. I won't go anywhere without him. We are in this journey together and both of us are going to survive. That's a promise."

"Have you taken a look out there!" screamed Andre, pointing at the booming sky. And to emphasize his point, lightning flashed again and illuminated his fear-stricken eyes. "You'll drown!"

"I don't care. If Roland drowns, so will I. Please keep an eye out for me while I'm gone, Andre. And pull me up when I tug on the rope, understand?"

"All right…" he sighed.

"Get Bennett and Dobbin to help if you can," I added. I turned around, rope tied tightly around my waist, and saluted him off with a smile. "Bye, Andy."

"G'luck, Jack." And with that, I ran a few steps back and then launched myself into the howling sea.

As my body hit the water, I felt as if I was slashed with a thousand knives. The water was bitterly cold and cutting and the short supply of air in my lungs immediately seemed as if it was severed in half, for I could barely breathe as soon as I was submerged. The water was crushing my already tightly wrapped chest and I needed to surface and get a big gulp of sweet air.

My head popped up from the water and I looked around. The ship was just a tad bit ahead of me and I had to stay close to it or my life-rope would break. In fact, it was gently pulling against my torso.

"Roland!" I wailed. "Roland!"

I found his hat floating in the water and I swam swiftly to it, practically stroking through the waves like a maniac in order to get to it, and I didn't mind the waves of saltwater that punched my face and found a way down my throat. I seized the hat and then dived in the area where it floated and stretched out my hands in the possibility of me feeling a piece of Roland's coat.

I felt nothing.

_Damn!_

"Roland!" Just the slightest thought that my efforts were useless was beginning to invade my head, but I refused for the doubt to increase. I'd find Roland. I'd die finding him if I needed to. I needed my brother.

"ROLAND!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, nearly eating up the rest of my breath. I was left wading in the water, gasping for air and jerking my head back and forth to look for his face.

"Astrid!" came a faint call. My heart nearly jumped up my chest and out my mouth from shock.  
"Roland?" I gasped, spinning about frenetically. "Brother?" My eyes went crazy searching the water for him and I saw a hand wave up at me before sinking below.

_Dear God, I've found you!_

"Roland!" I clasped my arms together in a point and dove below the waves again, now with a clear direction of where my dear brother was.

I couldn't see through the salty sea water, and so I always had my arms before me, stretching out to feel anything. At times, I'd feel seaweed graze my fingers and I'd grasp it, mistaking it for Roland's hair or a part of his coat. But eventually, my hands finally felt human skin, and I grabbed hold of it and hauled it above the water as best as I could. It was indeed Roland, and he was not breathing.

"Roland," I wheezed, slapping his face a bit. "C'mon, Roland. Wake up, brother." I gave him a few shakes, but there was nothing. _Dammit!_

Remembering the rope around my waist, I gave it a fierce tug and rattled it about a bit, hoping that Andre would remain dutiful and would pull us up.

While waiting for Andre to respond by actually sending a reply to my signal, I untied the rope around my waist and wrapped it around Roland's limp body so that he would be ensured of his life. Afterwards, I clung to his cold self, the waves of the ocean washing away my tears as I worried over his condition. _Please brother, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please don't leave._

"Ya have to live, Roland," I whimpered, hugging him all the closer. "I'm sorry." I felt his body suddenly wrench away from me, and I realized that good old Andre had stayed true to me. I immediately reached forward and clutched Roland's abdomen as we were slowly lugged through the waves and closer and closer to our ship. _Thank God…_

"Well, what have we here?" cheered Dobbin as I looked up and saw our faithful mates hauling us on deck.

"Two fish," said another voice and I grinned all the more.

Bennett had come along too.

He smiled down at me as we were gradually pulled up and as soon as we were within an arm's reach, they pulled us over the rail and Roland and I toppled onto the deck, dripping wet and coughing, or at least, I was. Roland was still unconscious.

"Call for Doctor Cavanaugh, if you please," said Bennett, nodding his head in Andre's direction. Obediently, Andre saluted and left, leaving the three of us to handle the situation. Apparently though, I had caused some commotion on the deck and Mister Sumner was making his way through.

"What's goin' on here, lads?" he demanded, peering at my shuddering self and Roland's insensate body.

"Mister Turner fell overboard and Jack Barlow went in after him," replied Bennett. Mister Sumner's nose wrinkled in bafflement and he peered suspiciously at me, as he always did whenever I did anything out of the ordinary.

"Is that true, Barlow? Ya dive into a storm jus' t'save a good friend o' yours?"

"Yes, sir," I stuttered, gripping onto my freezing clothes to keep in my warmth. "No man should be left behind. Better more than less." He didn't lift his glare off me after nearly five minutes, or until Andre returned with Doctor Cavanaugh, carrying a few blankets and a coat.

"Well, Jack," said Cavanaugh, grinning at me with pure amazement. "Another brave deed for you. Give him both of the blankets and bring him down the galley. The storm's subsided for the most part and he should be kept warm down by the heat of the stove."

"Aye, sir," replied Bennett, and before anyone else could help me up, Bennett offered me a hand and I took it with trembling knees. He helped me steady myself though by letting me lean on him, which worked for my benefit in two ways. I'd get his support and also his body heat.

"Wait," I said, turning my head around. "When he wakes, tell me."

"Certainly, Jack. Go on now. You need some looking after as well," said Cavanaugh, and I hobbled off with Bennie to the galley, and from his spot at the quarterdeck beside the wheel, I discovered Captain Carlisle watching us with his sea green eyes.

The night was late and I was still in the galley with Bennett. He was kind enough to get me a seat very close to the stove, and I thanked him for it, never realizing how wonderful a friend he had been to me. I knew Roland was wrong about many things, as I was, but he was most definitely wrong about Bennett. The dashing midshipman would never dare hurt me, and I hoped that one day Roland would see that. In fact, with Griffith gone on the other ship, Bennett was more of himself. He talked more, that was for sure, and he was also more assertive and in control, while still remaining civilized and reasonable. If anyone deserved to be Fourth Lieutenant, it was him, and not a bastard like Griffith.

I wiped my dripping nose with my sleeve, not really caring about the fact that Bennett was closely watching me, especially because he was such a high-class and well-respected lad. I cared not. He would either have to grow accustomed to my ugly habits, or accept them.

"That was another spontaneous stunt you implemented, Jack," he said abruptly, staring at me with his scintillating blue eyes. The fire glowing from the stove made for a very warm glow about him and I was reminded of my Adam, wherever he was. Or if he even remembered me…

"Didn't do it on purpose," I replied. "A life was at stake. What was I supposed to do?"

"Most men would have just let the man drown. Have you ever heard about, well, the general code on the sea?"

"What code?" I asked dumbly.

"That any man who falls behind, stays behind. You've never heard it?" He scratched his head and frowned a bit, perhaps a bit dulled by my incomprehension of the subject. He was always so quick and clever. The lad was very smart. Smarter than I would ever be.

"No," I said simply, licking my lips and feeling my stomach growl. "I think I'll get some food." As I was getting up, Bennett stayed me with a hand and gently pushed me back down to my seat.

"No need. I'll get it. You shouldn't be doing much after your lengthy swim in the ocean. Go on, relax."

"All right." And he left after that, leaving me wondering if it was about time he knew who Jack Barlow really was. The lad had proved himself trustworthy, and I admired his company more than anyone else's, except for Roland's. I didn't know why, but there was something about him that made me feel… odd.

My pondering was interrupted with his return, and he handed me a square dish of the usual meal and a tankard full of grog. "Thank you," I said timidly.

I was about to take a spoonful of the steaming stew when I heard a very unexpected, "E-Excuse me." My head shot up from my dish and I saw Roland, still damp from the water and all wrapped in blankets. But unlike the last time we had spoken, he was smiling at me. "May I have a word with Jack, Mister Bennett?" he asked and Bennett hurriedly got up and let Roland have his seat.

"Thank you, Bennie," I said.

As Roland sat beside me, he pursed his lips in thought, not really knowing what to say or to do in my presence.

"Thank you, Jack," he sighed at last, looking straight at me. I smiled back, feeling my brother return to me. "I owe you my life, brother. Thank you." I would have tackled him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, but I smartly chose otherwise.

"Aw, g'wan and say more 'bout how I'm yer hero an' everythin'" I teased, hooking my arm around his neck and digging a fist lightly into his wet hair. "But on the more serious note, brother. I wouldn't care if you deeply hated me and wished I'd die, I'd save ye anyway." _Because I love you, brother, _I added inwardly. _And Mum and Dad back home would have slaughtered me if they found out I let you drown._

"But that's exactly what happened. I told you I hated you and that I wished you died. So why? Why'd you risk your life to save me? I was as good as a dead man."

"Well, you're me brother, Roland. We're in this journey together. It's just as much yours as mine. Besides, I wouldna let you die till you seen me dad. Plus, I've already made up me mind t'make you the best man of me weddin'."

"You're daft, Jack," laughed Roland.

"Am I? Or is it just me grog?" I raised my tankard and grinned.

"No. I am certain it is you." He swung his own arm around my neck and gave me a good bump on the head with his fist and just like that, we were blood brothers again… or blood brother and sister through my eyes.

"Good. Now that that's done, Roland. I need to speak to you about more important matters."

"What are they?"

"It has to do with… well… nature."

"Nature?" he echoed.

"Yes, _nature_." And after a few seconds, Roland finally understood and indicated it to me with an elongated 'oh.'

"Tell me later, Jack," he said. "I'm hungry." And without warning, he took a spoonful of my food and stuffed it into his face, earning him a good slap on the head.

_At last! Land ahoy!_

The men were cheering and howling with rapture at the sight of land. Our wind was positively magnificent and we were inching closer and closer to the harbor. I could tell our crew was the happiest it had ever been and several men were up in the highest of the rigging to get the best view of land, or perhaps, their home.

Agood four months it took for us to finally reach our destination: Portsmouth, England. At last, I'd be able to see the busy streets and the active harbor of one of England's most popular ports. Not to mention that I'd finally be introduced to Bennett's lovely Marie. Perhaps I would even meet Nattie and Ian up there too, for Ian was a merchant and Portsmouth was common harbor for ships. There was even just the slightest possibility that I'd see Adam. After all, his father was being relocated to England for a brief time and Adam could possibly still be there. The excitement was causing my girlish dreams to become far too apparent for my own good.

My hands gripped a line of the main topgallant shroud to steady myself as I stood high on the main topgallant yard. It was difficult to get my feet balanced on the yardarm, for the wind had gone mad and was blowing strongly in my face, making for a tricky force to defeat.

My hair was still cut short, for I kept it that way. Every couple of weeks or so, I'd trim off a few inches with my sword. Now with all the fairy business beginning to bubble about, I had to keep my true identity highly protected. It would have been nice, though, to feel the wind blowing my hair.

Andre stood beside me, one hand clinging to the same shroud, but we weren't actually seeing things eye-to-eye anymore. For one, I was not even in Andre's field of vision. The lad had grown tremendously over the few months it took us to get to Portsmouth. Perhaps half a foot at the least, and he grew not only in height, but in breadth. He looked quite a fit young man now, worthy of a spot as midshipman, and whenever we lads were confronted by the captain, the other middies, mainly Roland and Dob, would make the slight hints about promotion.

My ship's boy companion had also grown out his hair, not to mention that his voice was changing. Squeaky at times it'd be, and then at others it'd drop low. _Oh, the wonderful world of adolescence_. We still managed to stay good mates for the most part, but Andre was getting a lot of influence from the sailor, Hawley; otherwise known as the man with the fiddle.

Hawley was without a doubt a good sailor. He was firm, but not a dirty old brute, and he was also willing to help others. Plus, whenever he'd strike his fiddle, the lads would go wild with the tunes. Hawley was a foretopman: one of the highest ranks an able bodied sailor could have. He was a good role model for Andre. I wasn't surprised that Andre spent less time with me. I had to admit, I missed his funny jigs and crude comments.

From above, I spotted a midshipman emerge from below decks and eagerly walk towards the bow of the ship, where many a sailor were assembling. I could recognize his steps from anywhere, for I had observed his steps quite often. It was charming Mister Bennett.

"Hey, Bennie!" I called from above. He didn't hear me. I was too high up for my voice to be carried away to him.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Look, Jack! We're almost to the harbor!" cried Andre, grinning widely. "C'mon. We'll be docking soon, I think, an' I wanna be down on one of them boats first. Ya comin'?" My mind had to choose between getting Bennie up with me, or following Andre. I decided to follow Andre.

"Lead the way, brother!" I cheered, and I challenged him to a race to see who could get down first. We climbed like monkeys down the shrouds. He won. I lost. And things were still about the same. As soon as his feet hit the deck, he ran off, looking for his sea dad, Hawley, without so much as a, "Good game, Jackaroe!"

Although, I had grown to despise that name. _Jackaroe_. Made me sound more like a villain than a noble sailor. Plus, Griffith was the one who dubbed me that, and I was glad I did not have to see his face for four months.

The ship was finally anchored, a bit away from the actual docks of the harbor because the shallower waters would not be able to support its unfathomable mass. Plus, the Admiral's boat would be coming to the ship first to discuss the prize and prize money with Captain Carlisle and his lackeys.

Lieutenant Thorne and his band of men though, re-boarded the ship after docking the prized French frigate. And sadly, I had to salute and glance at Griffith's face. He seemed most overjoyed to finally be with Bennett, his only mate on the ship as it were.

Bennett and Griffith greeted each other with salutes and claps on each other's shoulders. "Back home, brother," said Griffith with his horrendous grin. "Not to mention my _sister_." He nudged Bennett with his elbow and the two chuckled lightly to themselves. "When are you going to propose?" he joked, and Bennett shook his head with a blushing face.

"I don't know," answered the spineless lad. "When I feel that I'm ready." And they said no more.

I was convinced that I hated admirals, for we had to wait for hours before we could get off the boat and parade about Portsmouth. Us ship's boys had to stand, backs straight, eyes stern, and hands stiffly at our sides unless we had to salute. And when we did have to salute we had to do it in a more orderly manner. Not just a simple nod of a hat or knuckle to the brow. We had to be strict and very controlled, which I found very difficult since my anxiety to get on land was killing me.

But at last, after an hour or two of dining and talking with our captain, the admiral, all decked in his glimmering gold brocade, large feathery hat, and spotless white trousers, finally took his leave with his band of minions. Leaving us with our pay from the captured French frigate as well as new orders.

What those orders were, I did not know. But Bennett and Roland and the other middies sure did. And they were even more excited after they found out. "Where's our next destination?" I asked, as the men began to pile into the boats to get to land.

"We're off to hunt pirates in the Mediterranean!" hooted Roland, with a toss of his hat in the air. _What the hell is good about that?_,I wondered. _What if we find Jack?_

"Wait—" I began, but it was too late for me to change their minds. He and Dobbin had linked arms and were circling about laughing and howling with joy. "Can we get t'land now?" I advised. "I'm dyin' to see this Portsmouth of Mister Bennett's." Roland and Dobbin stopped their expression of frivolity and my brother looked at me oddly, his eyes narrowed but with a smirk on his face.

"Oh, I see," he said. "Wouldn't want to keep Mister Bennett waiting, right, Jack?" I replied with a mumble.

"Let's jus' get goin'. Where's Andre?"

After recruiting Andre and hopping into a boat with Roland, Dobbin, Bennett, and unfortunately Griffith, we rowed off to the docks.

_Hello, Portsmouth, _I thought as I gazed upon the buildings and life of it. We had finally set foot on land, and proper Bennett was arranging a coach for us. I told him I didn't need a damn carriage, me being a ship's boy, but he declined my suggestion and went off to get one anyway. _His_ own family's carriage, might I add.

It was strange to finally walk on land again. My legs weren't used to its steadiness, and my body was a bit compelled to wobble because that was what it was used to. But we soon got our land legs back, and while we waited for Bennett to get us his fine little carriage, Roland, Dobbin, Andre and I scrutinized the docks and paced around a bit, chatting with some other sailors from merchant ships and other warships anchored in the harbor. But then we came upon a merchant ship that was captained by someone I never thought I'd see again.

"Mister Clyde!" yelled Roland, waving his arms in the air to get Ian's attention. Ian was directing his men in unloading the cargo, and turned his head abruptly to the side, somewhat baffled at the call. After searching about for a while and then looking down at us, he smiled and hurried down to the docks to greet us.

"My, Mister Turner!" he exclaimed, shaking Roland's hand. "When did the _Paramount_ dock? I don't recall seeing her."

"Oh no, sir," replied Roland. "I didn't sign up on the _Paramount_. I'm from the _Resolve._"

"Well then," said Ian, not knowing what to say. "It's good to see a familiar face. How are your parents?"

"Doing very well, I hope," said Roland, keeping his answer brief. He knew he couldn't say much because he didn't know how our family back in Port Royal was doing.

"Good. Good. Do you lads have anywhere to go during your stay here? My wife and I could very well let you stay in our home."

"No need to, I don't think, sir," said Roland. "We're taking a coach to Mister Gareth Bennett's home for today." Ian's smile grew all the wider.

"Bennett has returned? This is a surprising day indeed!" He began to look from face to face, so happy that he wanted everyone to see his elated visage. But then his eyes landed on me, and he grew all the more shocked. "_Extremely_ surprising," he added. "Who is your friend?" he asked, looking at me, but asking Roland the question. His unblinking eyes must have recognized my pirate wear from that wondrous Christmas day spent with the Lockes. I felt my face burn, hoping that Ian wasn't asking the question because he knew who I was. But it seemed as though he did. Why did men have to be so bloody intelligent?

"This is Jack Barlow. He's a ship's boy on the _Resolve_."

"Well done then, Jack," said Ian with a grin. "Well done." He clapped me on the shoulder, leaving me a bit confused as to why he was proud of me being disguised as a boy, but too happy to see him to mind. "I really must get back to my crew, Roland," he said at last. "Perhaps you'll join me and my wife to dinner some time during your stay here?"

"Of course, Ian." And I heard no more. I'd get to see my good ol' sister Nattie again. And I was dying to see her, just to get out all of my girlish thoughts without shame.

After waiting for nearly an hour and having gone mad with entertaining ourselves with dying conversation, Bennett and Griffith finally returned with their carriage. A simple black box with wheels and doors hauled away by four horses. _Ah, a coach and four for Mister Bennett._

"Took ye long enough," I snorted as I happily leapt into the box, glad that I didn't have to wait on a man as I would have had to do if I were dressed as a lady. "How the hell am I supposed to _see_ Portsmouth, if you trap me in a damn coach?" I muttered, sitting myself closest to the carriage windows and sticking my head out of it. But I wasn't alone. Andre had hopped in and was gazing about it with sheer wonder.

"You two look like you've never been in a carriage before," smirked Griffith as he stepped in, unfortunately, taking a seat beside me. "Oh wait," he mocked. "You're _orphans_. How on earth could I have forgotten? Of course you do not know what it is like to ride in a coach." Both Andre and I had pulled our heads out of the window and glowered at Griffith, who seemed unquestionably pleased with our glares.

"I think I'd find some fresher air outside the carriage," I said, looking Griffith straight in the eye with grinding teeth. "After all, I think I smell something _very_ foul in here, don't ya think, Andy?"

"I can't even breathe," he laughed, joining in on my act and pretending to choke.

"Can't you two tolerate each other for just one moment?" intruded Bennett, not wanting to seem like a bad host. "I'm taking all of you to my home and I implore you to please behave. You especially, Jack."

"Oh, it's always gotta be wild little Jackaroe, aye?" I scoffed, slumping in my seat and folding my arms with a humph.

"A quick stop at my house, Bennett," said Griffith. "I must greet my sister and father."

"Certainly," came Bennett's reply, and from within, I almost gagged myself into unconsciousness.

The tightly clustered and narrow homes of the inner harbor were increasingly growing in size, and soon, more trees could be seen, accompanied by larger areas of green pasture and fields. The occasional orphan or beggar ambling about the streets was now nonexistent in Bennett's and Griffith's territory and all that remained were the vast green sea, and the clean, damp air.

I never thought I'd lay eyes on such a dreary place. England was very… gloomy, compared to the sunny, clear Caribbean. I made the decision already never to live in England. There were more possibilities, yes, but I could not be happy in an environment where even nature was not happy with me.

Bennett's, "We're at Griffith's home," was what drew me from my daydream and shifting my gaze from the window to the carriage doors, I got up first and prepared to leave.

"What the hell are you doing?" squawked Griffith, giving me a push back to my seat.

"Leaving," I retorted, but Griffith nearly stood up right then and there and would have kicked me 'til I bled unless Bennett stopped him.

"Leave it, Griffith. Just go." With a twitch of his eye, Griffith stomped out of the coach and before Bennett followed after him, I grabbed his arm.

"Why can't I go first?" I questioned.

"Because that's how it is, Jack. What did you think? You had special reason to exit? You're just a ship's boy." And I let him leave at that. My womanly mind had caused me to act as if I was a woman and was therefore always first to exit a carriage. Little did I know that they did not see me as a dainty woman.

I allowed Roland and Dobbin to walk out before me, feeling all the more low. And now, I would have to face Griffith's family. _Dear God, I do not think I will survive the night._

"Jack," ordered Griffith, pointing a finger at me as if I was an inanimate and lifeless object. "You shall be my servant. Carry my luggage, will you?" Fire sparked in my eyes and I was about to protest, but I held in my steam and marched back to the carriage to retrieve Master Griffith's stupid baggage.

"You've ridiculed him enough already," I heard Bennett say in a hushed tone towards Griffith. "You know for a fact that the servants of your home would gladly take care for that for you. I brought Jack and Andre here as guests, Victor. Treat them as such."

"What!" bellowed Griffith. "You expect _me_ to treat those bastards as _equals_? You might as well dub them lord and King of all England, for God's sake! What's gotten into that head of yours, Bennett? My God, you're friends with a flea-covered ass and a brainless imbecile."

Nothing was said after that. Bennett did not respond, and failed to support Andre and me.

Perhaps what Dobbin said a long time ago to me was right. He told me it didn't come down to friendship for lads like Griffith or Bennett. It came down to _pride._ And it was clear at that moment that Bennett was unwilling to give up what was left of his just yet. Griffith was still the victor.

"Let's get going," said Griffith. "The baggage can wait. I already have enough on my hands. Call back the Jackaroe," he added with a simper.

Griffith's home was predictably grand and luxurious. It was painted white and had edged, carved columns on his front porch, all smooth and gleaming with paint. The front doors were black, wooden, and massive, with brass door knockers bigger than my head. Bennett was not kidding when he said Griffith's father was very successful in his slave trade. But in a sense, the fact that he sold lives for profit made all the affluence and sparkle of extravagance terribly dull. There was nothing to shine or be proud of when the money used to buy the richness was blood money, and the thought sent a shiver down my back.

The front doors gave way, answered by a middle-aged man. _The doorman_, I assumed. After bowing to Victor Griffith and exchanging a few words with him, we were granted permission to pass through and Griffith's home was even more sickeningly beautiful on the inside than it was on the outside. I almost fainted from the choking pampered air of the pampered home.

When Griffith's father arrived to greet us, Griffith did not allow us to introduce ourselves. He merely spoke for us, which could either have been good or bad, depending on how one looked at it. Of course, the damn toff said I was a servant boy, as was Andre, but perhaps saying we were ship's boys would have increased Lord Griffith's frown.

"Well, I do hope you have appropriate lodging for your companions," said Lord Griffith, rubbing his chin and looking at Andre and me with all too apparent disgust.

Lord Griffith was a tall, slightly round man of perhaps no more than forty-five. His hair was still black and neatly combed back and tied into a ponytail. His skin was rather pale and fair compared to our sunburned and tanned selves but his eyes that proved him to be Griffith's father. He had those same frightening blue and savage eyes.

"They are not going to stay here, Father," said Griffith, almost as a laugh. "I'd never do that. Bennett of course, as the exception. They are lodging elsewhere. They were just kind enough to drop me off. Where is Marie?"

"Griffith!" came a shriek. Our heads spun over to the winding staircase and down it treaded a black-haired woman with skin whiter than chalk and a puffy, violet dress that rustled with her. "Dear brother! How—And Mister Bennett!"

Bennie finally saw his opportunity to do something and he walked up to Marie and took her hand as he escorted her to us. Of course, not after kissing her fingers.

"The perfect couple," praised Griffith, approaching his sister and paying his respect and admiration by bowing and kissing the back of her hand. I grew sick with the formality. "Good to see you, sister."

"My, you have brought quite a lovely group of young men with you, Victor," she cooed, looking at Andre, Dobbin, Roland and me and batting her dark eyelashes. She too had the same strikingly blue eyes as her father and brother, as well as the black, tamed hair.

Her eyes fell on me, and her eyebrows uncurled from interest to surprise. "And who may you be, good sir?" she asked, leaving Bennett's side and nearing me, her hand extended before her. I looked at it, and then back at her face and bit my lip. I would certainly _not_ kiss her hand, and so, acting the fool once again, I grabbed it and shook it. And from the corner of my eye, I saw Bennett wince and Griffith frown.

She pulled her hand away from mine, laughing nervously to herself. "I'm Jack Barlow," I boasted. "Yer brother's servant."

"Really? Will you be staying for dinner? A couple of days?"

"No," I said simply. _'Cause I'll be staying in Bennett's lovely home and not yours. So stop looking at me like… that._ _Uh oh…_ She batted her eyelashes again and backed away shyly, while I felt my ears slightly grow red. If I was not mistaken, Marie had just flirted with a woman.

Thankfully, the rest of our visit to Griffith's grand estate was ended soon, and Bennett, Roland, Dobbin, Andre and I all walked out, back to the carriage. Griffith wisely chose to stay with his family, and with him gone, and his sister not looking at me, I felt highly relieved.

"How much further is yer home, Bennie?" I asked, but he didn't answer. I sat next to him and I leaned forward and peered suspiciously at him to create irritation, but he kept a straight and solemn face. I took it that he wasn't very happy with me, especially because I shook a woman's hand instead of kissing it, and also because his suitor had shown interest in me, which I found uncomfortably disturbing.

"Not far," he growled, and with an added sigh and shake of his head, he finally gave me his attention. "Why can you not be proper for once?"

"Whaddya mean? Bennie, I'm not like you. I wasn't raised in some grand an' fancy home with servants and riches. I grew up on the streets. Whaddya expect?"

"I _know_ you can act composed but you won't. You must always embarrass us by playing the fool."

"So I'm a fool then, aye?" I countered. "Best send me off to a show then. I'd get more respect from them than you." He whirred on me, fire about ready to spit from his mouth.

"I can very well just toss you out on the road _right now_, Jack," he warned, hissing it through his clenched teeth.

"Well, then that doesn't make you much of a good host, now does it?" I parried bravely, acting as if he was below me. The boy practically ruptured into flames with my rude remarks.

"Get out!" he shouted. "Mister Lester, open the door. I will not tolerate Jack's foul mouth any longer."

"Is that really why yer angry?" I asked, with a wry chuckle. "Or is it because lovely Marie has taken a fancy to me?"

I didn't know why I was teasing him further. For some odd reason, I found his angry face quite an entertaining amusement. Not in a bad way. I thought he looked, well… very handsome whenever he was mad. It was no surprise though, that Bennett erupted like a volcano and grabbed my shirt collar and was about to beat me, when Roland said:

"My God! It's Nattie, Jack! She's outside of that home right there!" His cry allowed for me to get spared from Bennett's ire and we all leaned forward and stared out of the carriage windows. And sure enough, Nattie was outside on her front porch, sewing in a rocking chair. "Bennett, do you mind if we stay here?" asked Roland. "I mean, I'm very close to the Lockes and so I know Ian and Nattie and—"

"Go ahead. Just make sure you take Jack with you," he grumbled. "Stop the carriage," he ordered to the coachman.

"Oh, Bennie, come along now too," I ribbed, looking pleadingly at him. His face was less taut with anger and he seemed to be holding back on fulfilling my request.

"All right," he confessed. "I'll go."

"Good!" I cheered, punching his arm before hopping out of the carriage and running to greet my "sister," Natalie Locke Clyde.

Nattie was not happy to see me.

When we arrived and introduced ourselves, she took one look at me and my short hair and filthy self and almost fainted. But she was stronger than that and smiled a lady's smile, while concealing her definite rage quite well. She permitted Roland, Dobbin, Andre and even Bennett to spend the night in the house, and we all agreed. Even Bennett, which was surprising because I could have sworn that the boy would have rather stayed in his own house for the night. But apparently, he had other plans.

On the more motherly side of her she added, "You boys are positively squalid!" And she twisted her face in a tight grimace. "All of you must be given a good bathe before supper tonight."

She called for a series of her maids and they all came and led us to the rooms we'd stay in for the night, and although Nattie's home was less luxurious than Griffith's, it still matched in size. Ian was doing very well for a merchant then, I would imagine.

While us boys all went our separate ways to be bathed, Nattie followed me to my corresponding room, with the maids assigned to me. "Leave," she ordered her maids, and without question, they filed out of the washroom and left Nattie to scold me. "I will not use your true name, dearie," she said, as calmly as her tongue would let her. She, like Adam, was very good at containing her fury, but it would only be a matter of time before she exploded. "Would you care to tell me just _exactly_ what you are doing here, dressed like _that_!" I smiled my sheepish grin but Nattie was far from pleased.

"It's a long story," I said softly, recalling back to the day where I had resolved to go on a ship and leave behind my family; the day I found out I was the daughter of a pirate.

"I pray that you tell me all, Jack," she ordered. "While you are given a good rinse. My God, are those nits in your hair?" She plucked something from my head and showed me a small, microscopic white bug. "Lord, help me," she sighed.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I know when you saw me dressed like this during Christmas, you'd never think I'd actually go somewhere with it. But I had to. And Ian's already seen me and I just know he knows it's me too." She called back her maids after shaking her head more at me and ordered them to shut the door so that none of my mates would accidentally walk in and see some things that they were not supposed to see for quite a long time.

It was off with the dirty trousers and muddy boots and soiled shirt and vest. And lastly the constricting cloth that had been tied around my chest for nearly a year. I was plunged in a tub of hot water and was harshly being scrubbed away when Nattie bade me to continue my story. And so I began the tale, starting from the day I found out I was a pirate's daughter and ending with my resolution.

"A life on the sea is what I need, Nattie," I concluded. "And I'm out here right now to find my true father. I need to find Jack, Nattie. He'll tell me who I am."

"But you're, Astrid, sister," she said gently, taking a pitcher and dumping its contents over my head. "By meaning, '_a beautiful and powerful god_.' You have done more than you think."

"But nothing to be proud of," I returned. She sighed and looked at me, much in the way my dear Mum would have done long ago.

"Do you think you have to do something brave and heroic in order to feel proud, Astrid?" she questioned. I looked up at her, only to have my face drenched in the clean rose water.

"How else will I know what I can do?" I replied, wiping the water away from my eyes. They were now stinging, either from the water, or from my own tears, which would have been strange. Why was I crying? I was just explaining to Nattie what I had to do.

"Astrid," explained Nattie, grabbing a white sheet of fluffy cloth and toweling my head with it. "Bravery is only one part of who you are. If you always do things that are brave, well, that's all you'll know about yourself. And if I truly wanted to figure out myself, I'd look beyond the horizon."

After shaking my head rather vigorously with the cloth, she told me to wait in the room and to dress in a simple gown until she came back with new and cleaner clothes for me. Boy clothes, might I add.

"And what if I never reach the horizon to look beyond it?" I asked as she was leaving.

"Knowing you, young sister, it is certain that you will. I do not think you honestly believe what you say, Astrid. You are in denial because you are still unsure if you made the right decision. Believe me, I know how that feels. I was a lost fool when I came back to England by myself. Luckily, I had people to help me find the Nattie you see before you. I'll be back soon. You don't go out, and none of your mates come in, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am," I mumbled, being led over to the dressing screen. _Here we go again, Astrid. In a dress you shall be confiscated in until good ol' Nattie comes back with your new apparel. _I braced myself as I felt the familiar frame of a corset being attached around me. "_Bring me that horizon._"

I stared at myself in the mirror of the room I was staying in. Nattie had arrived just a few moments ago with my new attire, and with it now on me, I examined myself closely in the silver glass. My face was slightly tanned from hours of being under the sun on a ship, and there was a definite scar on my right eyebrow, on my cheek and also on my neck. Perhaps they were not too obvious, but they were still vaguely visible. Other than those few marks, my face was clean again, thanks to the bath I took, and my hair was not sticky or weighed down with dirt.

Uneasily, I parted my lips and smiled into the mirror, my tongue feeling for the empty space in the back of my mouth where I lost a tooth in the fight with the Frenchies. At least none of my front teeth were punched out. I would have needed golden substitutes if I lost one, and that would make me the ugliest woman that ever walked the earth.

Finished with my rather conceited self-inspection, I looked down at my clothes. I was dressed in brown britches that came all the way down below my feet, but were rolled up and stuffed into my boots so that it appeared as if they only fell to my knees. On the top half of my body, I wore an olive green vest and shirt, and over that, I wore a forest green coat, that was dully embroidered with brass buttons. The cloth was rather stiff and itchy, but I was just a servant boy. I wasn't allowed to have grand clothes.

Taking one more overall and thorough look at myself in the mirror, I sighed with disappointment. "If Adam were to see me," I puffed. "He would scream." And, refusing to stare at my shameful self a moment longer, I sucked in a breath and marched out of the room, down the stairs, and straight into the company of my good mates.

"Hullo, Jack!" yelled a well-dressed Andre. He and I wore the same apparel, thanks to Nattie's clever mind. We'd be taken as servant boys immediately, but it was slightly better than our clothes as ship's boys. "Look, we're twins!" he laughed, clapping me on the shoulder, and I laughed along with him.

It was early evening. Before Nattie had given me my clothes, she had gone by Bennett's father's house to invite them to dinner, and so they would be arriving at any moment, and although I was not the least bit uneasy, I was sure Bennett was.

"Miss Clyde did a very nice job for you two," said Bennett, quite calmly to my surprise. I didn't even bother to look for him when I came down, but when he walked forward, I stopped dead in my tracks. He looked absolutely stunning.

He was dressed in brilliantly white britches that came down to his knees, with stockings to match, and he stood in a pair of shiny black shoes with buckles on them. Over that he wore a shirt, whose collar covered his neck and a vest lined in pale gold thread. And to finish his dazzling appearance, he wore a dark blue, almost black coat, which was also finely embroidered with just a bit of golden brocade. Not too much. He was still a petty officer. Roland and Dobbin were dressed similarly, but they still did not seem as radiant as Bennett did then.

"Dressing to impress?" I asked, gingerly grabbing the tail of his coat and wrinkling my face as if I was disgusted with the finery.

"No," he said, pulling his coat tail from my fingers. "It doesn't hurt to look nice."

"And it doesn't hurt to impress either," I added. "I didn't say dressing to impress was a bad thing."

"By your tone, I assumed it."

"Well, then you don't know me very well, Bennie," I replied, but quickly shutting myself up after that. I was acting coquettish again with all the mind games I was playing with him. _Dammit, Astrid._

I slyly took a quick glance at him to see how he had reacted and he was blushing. Not to mention that out of the corner of my eye I saw Roland and Dobbin snickering amongst themselves.

Nattie and Ian came rushing from the living room, she dressed finely in a light blue dress and he dressed finely in red and black. And then came a knock on the doors…


	17. Understandings

_Chapter Seventeen: Understandings_

**S**upper was unusually quiet, and the Clydes, Bennetts, and guests (excluding myself and Andre), ate their food empty of greed or speech. The air was heavily thick with dislike and feud. The Clydes had no position in the problem. They had merely brought it to everyone's attention by inviting Bennett's family to supper. Of course, I was sure Nattie did not do it on purpose. She was probably unaware of Bennett's clear opposition to everything his father did, and so the distress was not her fault. It was the quaint disagreement between father and son that caused the dining atmosphere to be highly burdensome to all of us.

I stood behind Bennett's chair while he dined, as Andre did the same for Dobbin's. One of Nattie's own servants stood behind Roland's chair, for it was custom in the Navy that any officer dining would have a servant behind him.

"You've arrived sooner than expected," said Bennett's father plainly as he dabbed his thin mouth with his napkin.

The acclaimed Lord Bennett was as different to Bennett as day was to night. He was aged, with a wrinkled face and a sharp, bony nose; nothing in the least bit like Bennett's smooth visage. His hands were also thin and if one looked closely, constantly shaking. It was clear the old man was ill with some sort of dormant affliction, but too stubborn to receive treatment for it.

His style could have also been considered antiquated judging by the wig he wore on his head to conceal his certain baldness. His eyes were a steely grey, darkened by some mysterious brutality that I honestly never wanted to see. The man was a leader of the slave trade, and although Port Royal was a main center of that business, I never did like the idea of enslaving people just because they seemed vulnerable and inferior. Who were we to judge that except God? My own family hated the industry. But I dared not speak my mind. Otherwise, the haggard Lord Bennett might have unleashed his all too frightening power.

"I wouldn't have supposed that you would even be waiting for my arrival. I was certain the day I left five years ago that you never wanted me to return," replied Bennett smartly, taking a swig of his wine and laying his bitter blue eyes on the threatening grey orbs of his father.

I sent Andre a look of worry towards the situation and he shrugged. I did not want to see Bennett humiliated, but it seemed as if he was welcoming the quandary to himself.

"Gareth," began Lord Bennett, his mouth stiff but his voice reassuring tranquility. "I do hope to see you progress as a naval officer, which you have indeed succeeded in doing. Perhaps when you are old enough, you may assist in captaining some of my ships."

And as quick as a whip, Bennett slammed his palm on the table, startling all of us and rattling the silent plates and dishes.

"Captain one of your damned ships?" he yelled. "I'd rather die than captain a slaver! My hands are already covered with the blood of the poor souls you have imprisoned just through being your son!" He raised a finger to his father, ridiculing him for his wrongdoing, and I was amazed that he had the nerve to do it amongst guests. "Do you honestly think that I would even—"

"Don't you dare point your finger at me, boy!" roared Lord Bennett, nearly swatting his son across the face with the words. His voice was pitiless and cold, but it contained some right to its viciousness as the father. "Whether you like it or not, you are part of this family. _You_ are _my_ son and will live by _my_ regulations. Whatever honor you have means nothing if you cannot share it with me."

"Why?" argued Bennett, his eyes widening with pure wrath. "So that you may redeem your family when in truth you have no honor left! I refuse to give credit to you for any of my accomplishments! I earned them myself! What honor is there in condemning innocent people to a life of slavery! To force them onto your boats and away from their homes! If anyone is the disgrace, it is _you. _And I will no longer be part of it."

Lord Bennett rose from his seat, startling his young wife and oblivious young son, his bony hands clenched and his mouth trembling with rage.

"Get up!" he ordered Bennett, but his son stayed in his seat, glaring back at his livid father, calm and proud at the stand he was making. The old man was furious and leaned forward, pointing a stiff finger at his resolute son. "Get up and get out! You deny your own blood; that is fine with me. But if you do so, then you have no relation to anyone here. For it is _my_ son who is acquainted with these people and since you no longer wish to be that, you do not know them."

Bennett leapt from his seat so quickly that he nearly pushed his chair straight into me, but I managed to pull back just in time. "So be it," he murmured, glowering at his father before exiting the dining hall.

I heard his footsteps echo as he marched farther away and when he was out of sight, the slam of the front doors was heard. My immediate sense to go after him was stayed by Nattie's order for Andre and me to take our meals in the kitchen while she and Mister Clyde discussed the problem with the Bennetts. From somewhere within though, I knew no other person could resolve their dilemma but father and son themselves.

"Lord, can Bennett and his ol' man fight!" applauded Dobbin as all of us lads took a stroll about Nattie and Ian's gardens to walk off the food we had gorged ourselves with. Dobbin was rather thrilled with Bennett's brawl with his own blood father, which I found rather unbecoming, especially for Dobbin being an admiral's son. But life had always surprised me with the most interesting of people and dear Robert Lester was certainly one of them.

"I think Lord Bennett can still hear you," I posed, nudging Dobbin with a bump of my arm. He shrugged it off with a huff and continued to meander about the cool night atmosphere.

"Eh, let 'im listen," retorted Dobbin. "It's not like he'll send me on one o' his slavers. My father would—"

"Yes, _your_ father," I interrupted. "But as ye can see, Bennett an' his father are _not_ on good terms and so ye don't need t' make things worse for them. By God, all of you, save for Andre and me, are lucky to have such good relationships with your blood father." I sighed and stuffed my balled hands into the pockets of my trousers and looked up at the glistening stars and glowing white moon above me. "I never got a chance to know mine."

My eyes studied the glinting stars while the chatter of the lads died into the soft chirp of crickets hiding in the dark. Was Jack looking at a similar sky? Or was I alone in gazing at the measureless span of sparkling black? I had been out to sea for almost a year and still no sign of him. And the dreams were coming less often.

"Jack?" said a voice behind me, I gradually bent my head to face my speaker and found Roland looming towards me. I looked past his shoulder and saw Andre and Dobbin heading for the house again.

"Hullo, brother," I said quietly. As he reached me, he stretched his arm over my shoulders and looked up with me at the sky.

"Ready to go in?" he asked, clearly not finding the same interest I did in the infinite array of stars blinking above us.

"Not quite," I answered. I narrowed my eyes on my target and at last found what I was looking for. Pointing a finger at it and leaning a bit into my good brother, I puffed proudly, "That's the North Star."

"I kind of knew that already, Jack," replied Roland with a controlled, soft chuckle.

"Jack told me that a long time ago. I remember. Do you think he does?" I felt Roland's sigh in my ears and I knew he was a bit bothered by the question. He knew less of Captain Jack Sparrow than I did.

"He's a captain. He'll know it all his life. C'mon. Dobbin and Andre are probably wondering what we're up to." He pulled gently on my arm to give me that small push towards the doors to the house but I would not leave yet.

"You go ahead. I'm gonna wait until Bennett comes back. Someone should be waiting for him when he returns." Roland tilted his head to the side and peered at me as a grin surfaced his young face. "What?" I groused, annoyed with the sudden mischievous smirk his lips had formed.

"Oh, nothing, Jack," he said softly. "I hope you know what you're doing, sister."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I demanded, poking a finger at his chest, which was shaking from inner laughter.

"I believe someone has a bit of a fancy for his supervising officer," he snickered happily to himself.

"_That_ is absolutely false," I defended. "I have Adam. Bennett's a friend. I feel sorry for him."

"Of course you do, you little bugger," mocked Roland.

"Roland," I growled. "I'm warning you." But he hushed me with a raised hand.

"I won't say a word. Just make sure you get enough sleep." He gave my shoulder a few pats before moseying back to the Clyde house and I couldn't help but think about what he had just said about Bennett and me. I was in no position to be falling in love.

I had to find Jack.

The deep low '_bong_' coming from the grandfather clock resounded throughout the den. From my position on the couch, I transferred my vision from the book I was reading to the clock itself and stole a glance at its hands. It was eleven in the evening and still no Bennett.

Almost everyone in the house was asleep. All of Nattie's servants were sent to their quarters, but she and her husband hadn't gone to bed as expected. They stayed awake with Bennett's father, and by the look of Nattie's deflated face she seemed most burdened about Bennett's lengthy departure and probably blamed herself for it. She sat in a rocking chair, knitting again, and I began to wonder who on earth she would be knitting for, for surely she and her husband had clearly out grown any thoughtfully interlaced articles of clothing.

Of course, Ian sat in an armchair closest to her, scribbling onto some music sheets and without a doubt composing another of his simple tunes. At times, he'd get up and take a seat on the bench of his very large and simply decorated pianoforte. With a quill wedged between his teeth, he'd tap a few keys with both hands, sending a lively jolt of melody through the silent den and then scribble more notes onto his paper.

Lord Bennett sat closest to the entrance of the den, so that he would have full view of the door if it was ever opened. He sat hunched in the chair he sat in, his thin, dried bottom lip jutting out a bit as he attempted to occupy himself with a book and the newspaper of that day. Perhaps he was looking for the arrival of any ships or news concerning his trade, despite how awful it was.

I stretched out my legs a bit on the couch and accidentally nudged the insensate limbs of my brother who lied opposite me on the couch, dozing off with his silly top hat covering his eyes. Unlike Dobbin and Andre, he decided to stay up with me, probably not trusting me to be alone with Bennett in the middle of the night, _if_ the young man would even arrive. But clearly, his strong desire for sleep was stronger than his intent to keep a watchful eye on me, and the drool dripping down his cheek was enough for me to safely conclude that Roland William Turner would not be waking any time soon.

There came a grunt and the crunch of a few rumpled papers, and Lord Bennett slowly rose from his seat, a hand on his bent back but with a face declining any pain. Straightening himself as he organized the newspaper and book in his arms, he addressed the Clydes with a surprisingly more gentle voice.

"Forgive me, Mister Clyde. I cannot wait any longer for my son here. I already sent my wife and son home and I believe I should join them. A man of my age should honestly be resting at this moment." Natalie immediately dropped her knitting and got up with Ian tagging by her side.

"If your son does return, I will be sure to send one of my messengers to you, Lord Bennett. I apologize for the inconvenience, sir," she said, her voice weighed with remorse.

"No need to apologize, Missus Clyde. For as long as I can remember, it has been like this. I bid you both good night." With a quick nod of agreement with his wife, Ian led Lord Bennett to the front doors and had the doorman usher them out. Lord Bennett had sent his carriage with his wife and son, and so Ian would have to accompany the old man in his own.

Nattie followed their footsteps to the open door and waved them goodbye before the door was shut and she re-entered the den, her countenance still appearing crestfallen.

"Well, Jack," she said, sitting down in her rocking chair and resuming her knitting, her small hands working swiftly with the sharp, gleaming needles. "It appears as though only you and I are awake." She nodded over at Roland who rolled onto his side with a moan, and I laughed.

"What are you knitting?" I asked, having wanted to ask it since after supper.

"Oh, nothing," she said, smiling a bit. "It's a hobby of mine." From her clear refusal to answer that question directly, I decided not to persist and went on with another of my questions.

"Have you gotten any letters from Adam?" She looked up from her working hands and smiled at me, knowing why the question was asked.

"I've received only one, Jack," she said, slightly disappointed. "I _do_ know that he is in India at the moment with our father. All of them were supposed to relocate here, but it seemed as if the Admiralty had other plans for them. I am sure he is enjoying his time in India though."

"Did he mention me?" I couldn't help but ask, feeling that she'd say nothing but 'yes.'

"I'm sorry, Jack, but he didn't." _What?_ The book I was reading slipped from my hands and dropped to the floor, and my teeth had unclenched and lay open in my shocked mouth.

"What?" I squeaked, not wanting to believe it for one second.

"Oh, no, Astrid," she said, getting up from her seat and apologizing again. "Adam and I don't talk about those things. If he wrote a letter to your brother or his friends, I am sure he'd mention you. Come now, saucy sailor girls don't cry."

"I wasn't going to cry," I defended, sniffing a bit and permitting myself to blink more than usual for a few moments. "When next he writes, please mention me in your reply," I said, almost as a plea.

"I promise, sister. It will be done." I released a sigh of relief and lay back onto the couch, hugging myself a bit. I never realized how heart-sore I had become without having the affection of a man who loved me.

Nattie went back to her needles and thread and I remained without any words to say, wondering how Adam was doing. I didn't even know where India was, despite all of the atlases Stephen had given me as a gift. I was sure I could look it up, but its location might have just worsened my longing for him. He was probably having fun without me anyway, and I was certain he made many a girl squeal with delight at his breathtaking presence.

I pouted and crossed my arms over my chest. With all that he had done so far, would he even remember me? The boy had traveled the world and what had I done? I got in a scuffle with the French and was stuck on land again, moping.

_Oh Adam, you little ba… no, I can't call you that just because you didn't mention me in your letter to your sister. I hope she's right about how you don't talk about those things. But if I find out what you've _really_ been doing, Adam, and if I find out that you've been fooling around with the other lasses, well, I'll show you, Adam. And I won't just show you with some nameless sailor. I'm gonna go find my young Mister Bennett and—_

Suddenly, Nattie gave a stifled retch and I shot up from the couch as she dropped her knitting and covered her open mouth with her hand. She scurried quickly out of the room with wobbling steps and I dared not follow her, even more astounded and faintly frightened by her abrupt vomiting. Distantly, I heard her regurgitating her food and just by the sounds I thought I might vomit too. But the front door opened and in walked Ian, instantly drawn to the sound echoing through the house and without closing the door ran to where his wife was, which was in the kitchen.

While he went to comfort her, I got up and closed the door, and when I turned back around to head for the den again, I saw Ian walking alone back to the den. Now even more confused, I was not about to leave it at that.

"Is she sick?" I asked. After Ian gestured for me to return to the den, he sat down at his pianoforte and I took my place at the couch and he looked at me with that ubiquitous fatherly stare.

"No, she's not. Far from it actually." He paused and I couldn't really find a reply, for I was still trying to solve the odd mystery myself. _Then what?_ I asked myself inside. "She's pregnant," he said, smiling. And my once suspicious face was smacked with joy. Nattie was going to have a baby!

I gave a gleeful but silent hoot before Ian urged me to sit down again. "When?" I demanded.

"She began feeling a bit ill the past few days and so we saw a doctor and he confirmed it."

"That is wonderful!" I squealed. "You're gonna be a mum and dad!"

Ian chuckled nervously, perhaps not anticipating my excitement over the ordeal.

"I imagine it t' be quite a daunting career," he said, focusing his eyes on the black and white keys.

"Why?" I questioned. "I'm sure you and Nattie would make wonderful parents." He smiled and with a sigh got up from the piano bench and looked at me, much in the same way Roland had that evening.

"You've decided to wait for Bennett then, aye?" I suspected why the question was asked and remembered Roland's assumption that I admired Bennett.

"Yes," I answered. "Just to make sure he hasn't gotten himself dead drunk." Nattie's splendid Scottish husband merely laughed lightly and walked out of the room, but not without saying, "I hope you know what you are doing, Miss Turner."

When morning came at last, it did not bring Bennett along with it. All it brought was a sudden scream from Roland to find that I had slept across from him.

"Good God!" he screamed, jumping to his feet and stumbling to the floor in the process. "Jack!"

I groaned and swatted the air around my face to rid any disturbances near me.

"Arr, curse ye for breathin' ye scurby landluvver!" I growled, shaking a fist at the air. I felt a warm hand slap my face and force my eyes open, and I saw Roland William Turner hovering above me, his visage puckered with amusement and confusion.

"For one," he said, straightening his jacket. "It is scur_v_ylandlu_bb_er not scur_b_y landlu_vv_er. And two, I believe it is morning and breakfast is being made." I rubbed my eyes vigorously and sat up, scratching my head.

"Morning already? Is Bennett back?" At that, Roland laughed and hauled me to my feet.

"No, young handsome Mister Bennett is still out in town probably in bed with one of the local harlots," he grinned. "And most likely as drunk as Davy's sow," he added, while I got up and confronted him with blazing eyes. If I knew Bennett, I knew he would _never _be caught dead in a whorehouse.

"He's still not back?" I moaned, wiping my hands with my face. The sunlight from the windows was streaming out and shooting at my tired eyes. This was definitely _not_ a glorious morning. "Dammit, how long will that boy hold his grudge!" I glared around the den, my eyes hurriedly searching for my hat and coat. I was going to find Bennett and slap sense into him.

"What do you think you're doing, Jack?" asked Roland, stopping me from heading upstairs to my room to snatch my coat and hat and then jump out the front doors.

"Bennett needs to be found, Roland. I don't care what you say, he's my friend and I will not have him run away from his problems forever. You know very well what I am talking about because you've been there yourself, ye drunken bastard."

"Bennett is almost nineteen years old, Jack. I think he can take care of himself," remarked Roland with a bit of a scoff as he followed me up the stairs to my room. The boy seemed oddly intent on keeping me away from Bennett, but such was the nature of brothers. Always wary of who their sisters fancied, that was, of course, if I fancied Bennett, which I didn't think I did.

"Well, I don't!" I yelled in return, bursting into my room. I located my coat and hat, put them on and was back to running down the stairs to begin my search for that blasted Bennett.

"Jack!"

Roland protested against me leaving, sending me his threatening look as if he was our good old dad, but there was one problem with all of these fatherly protections to me. Here I was on a quest to find my true father, and yet one young man out there had run away from his, apparently not thankful at all for that blessing. If anyone needed the fatherly protection, it was Bennett.

"I'll be back, brother," I said. "Save me some breakfast, will you?" And in a split second, I was out to search for my good mate in a city I rarely knew.


	18. A Pirate's Jewel

_Chapter Eighteen: A Pirate's Jewel_

**M**y resolution to venture off by myself to uncover Bennett's whereabouts had earned its place on the list of stupid things I had done. And just like every other moronic thing I was guilty of, my quest to find Bennett had begun as somewhat of a "simple" task, only to bear the complete opposite as soon as it was played into action.

From the Clyde's home, I followed their driveway to the main road, which eventually broke off into smaller roads, and I always chose the left. My repetitive choices unfortunately piloted me to the wild and unpropitious territory of Portsmouth commonly referred to as "the slums." I took one look at it and grinned from my own stupidity. _Damn, Astrid,_ I thought. _What a wonderful place to start._

I was at least thankful for having trespassed the area dressed as a boy. As a woman, I would have surely been in more trouble, and trying to find the quickest way out of the reeking and immoral atmosphere was easier than finding Bennett.

When I at last reached the more decent parts of the town, I began to poke around in local taverns, inns and the like just to see if he had stayed in any. But all of them declined having seen a man of Bennett's description, and when I looked into the log books at the inns, there was no man signed in under his name.

"All right, you bastard," I murmured, stepping out of my umpteenth inn. "That is the last decent place I'd assume you'd reside in, so if you are not in any of them… where are you now?"

I sat on the curb at the end of the street and took off my hat, running a hand through my short hair. Bennett was often full of surprises, especially when it came to things that he stalwartly justified. So there was always the possibility that clean Bennett had rented a room in some disgraceful boarding house just to peeve his father. And yet, the lad had warned me of the dangers of prostitution. I concluded that Bennett would never go back on his word.

"Fine, ya sly, sneaky, stupid, stupid boy," I growled. "Jack Barlow ain't gonna give up," I told myself proudly. _But now I don't know where to go, dammit._

"Mister _Barlow_?" screeched someone from afar. _Mister Barlow? What the hell? _I turned my stupefied head to take a peek behind me, and a few yards off was a young woman waving a fan in my direction, and beside her was a tall, handsome gentleman. Suspicious and greatly puzzled with why the hell a woman would be calling _me_, I squinted my eyes, and my vision focused to reveal the familiar face of vile Victor Griffith and his queer older sister.

"Great God," I gasped, speedily spinning around with my teeth biting into my bottom lip. "What am I going to do?"

"_Jack?_" rang Marie Griffith's shrill voice. It was getting louder by the second, and so there was naught else left to do but walk in the other direction, pretending as if I had not heard her call my name.

I pressed my hat on my head, pulling it tight around my face so that Marie might mistake me for someone else, but she persisted, her calls becoming more pleading with every step I took. And I was certain Griffith was following her with a delighted face.

"Jack!" she screamed, and I thought I almost felt the sound waves bounce off my neck. With a shudder, I pressed onward, trying to weave through the procession of walking people in the hope of misguiding her, but she must have had damned good eyes, and damned quick steps because before I knew it, she had caught my coat collar.

"Finally!" she exclaimed. "Did you not hear me?"

I squirmed at the touch and gratefully pulled my coat from her clutch and smirked briefly with annoyance. Griffith was right behind his sister, his eyebrows raised with evident amusement, and while Marie was calling my name and Griffith was eyeing me with that same white flame in his eyes, I tried to think up a lie to get myself out of their company.

"It is highly rude, Jack," said Griffith suddenly, quieting his sister with the raise of his hand, "to ignore a young woman's address to you. An apology is needed." Marie smiled with relief at her brother's words and extended her hand before my vaguely disgusted face, batting her eyelashes again.

"I'm terribly sorry," I said. "I did not know. I'm an orphan after all and not accustomed to all of this… what do you call it? Oh yes, _propriety_, that you fine nobs love to execute."

"An apology is still required, Jack," replied Griffith, gesturing towards his sister's offered hand. My nose twitched with horror, and I looked at Marie's hand to Griffith's beaming face and then back to Marie's hand.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" I asked dumbly. Marie laughed lightly and took a step towards me, bringing her hand all the more closer to my face.

"You kiss it, silly one," she cooed. And with the thing I was supposed to kiss right in front of my face, I could not protest with another inane response. Biting my tongue inside, I leaned forward and bumped my mouth on the back of her hand, letting the force inflict the kiss instead of my own lips. I felt like spitting after what I had done.

"What brings you out into the town at such an hour, Jack?" inquired Griffith, stepping in between his sister and me, but I was not relieved at the intervention. I was uncomfortable around Marie, just because she was flirting with a woman, and Griffith was not much of an improvement either.

"I've come looking for Mister Bennett actually, Mister Griffith," I said, thinking that if I was honest, the brute would help me. But he laughed instead and hooked his arm around my neck as if he was giving me brotherly affection, but I doubted it.

"Funny that you mention that, Jack," he said, grinning at the road ahead of us. "Bennett is at my house."

"What!" I screamed, causing Griffith to finally step away from me and rub his ear.

"You shout awfully loud for a boy your age," he said, snickering. "But since you seem so intent on finding Bennett, I'll take you there. Come, Marie," he commanded, and before I could make any mark of rebuttal, Miss Griffith gladly seized my hand and dragged me along to their carriage.

The one thing that stopped me from smacking Bennett until he was a dead man was the simple, white and wooden barrier of the Griffiths' guestroom door. Marie had informed me that he arrived at their mansion around five that morning, dazed and drunk, as she described. Immediately, he collapsed into bed, and just the way Marie spoke of it was enough to make me blaze to the point of tears.

They told me he was still sleeping, but I could have cared less of what they had to say. Slumbering or not, Bennett was in need of a good bruising lecture. And I was just the boy—_girl_, to give it to him.

I tore away the wooden barrier between us and didn't waste any time knocking on the door. I simply marched right in, glad to see young Mister Bennett still sleeping. With a smile curving on my lips, I bent over the bed, right over his face, and seized the collar of his nightshirt. And _that_ gave him such a fright that his blue eyes shot open and his mouth opened to call for help, but I hauled him up with both of my hands as he struggled and slurred his confused words.

"Jack! What? What the hell are you—"

"Good morning to you as well, Bennett," I replied, pushing him out of the door and down the hallway. "I am sorry to disturb your peaceful, and most likely, lewd dreams, but I'm afraid you have an appointment to meet."

"Appointment?" he squawked. "I never made a damn app—"

"Oh, shut up," I grumbled, never releasing my grip on his collar as I hauled him down the stairs and towards the kitchen of the Griffith home.

Marie and her brother happened to pass us and while she gave a shriek, Griffith spurted out a laugh and surprisingly congratulated me for my method of making Mister Bennett a sober and healthy young man.

"What are you doing!" shrilled Marie, rushing forward to snatch Bennett away from me. Her womanly fretting was beginning to get on my nerves, and so Jack Barlow the "Enchanter" had to pull a bit of his tricks in order to calm the worrisome woman.

"My dear," I began, pausing and looking back at her. "I ensure you that your fiancé will not be harmed in any way whatsoever. I am merely doing you a favor by ridding the evils of alcohol from his body." For the sake of my act, I gave her a wink and she was instantly tamed and giggled with growing pink on her face. Realizing the horrible position I had just put myself in, I turned about and proceeded to bring Bennett to the kitchen, where a tub of cold water was waiting for him.

"Jack," said Bennett, wobbling behind me as I continued to tug on his shirt collar. "I'm sorry, I—"

"It is _much_ too late for that, Bennie. Come now. Be a good boy and follow my lead." To show him that I was not in the least bit kidding around, I pulled on his shirt all the harder, making him jerk forward with a muffled choke and we paraded through the swinging doors of the kitchen.

"Pay us no mind," I ordered the working servants, and the command was easily obeyed after the maids took one long, wide gaze at us before shakily resuming their work. I was positive that they thought me mad.

The tub of water I had asked to be ready was waiting by the back door of the kitchen that led into the gardens. I kicked the tub of water, which knocked into the swinging door and pried it open a bit, and I continued to do so until the tub was out under the blinding morning sun with us right behind it.

"Jack," mumbled Bennett, trudging behind me and taking a breather as he knelt down on the ground. I had truly surprised and pushed the boy rather harshly. "What are you doing?" he panted, looking up at me with an innocence in his eyes that almost moved me to reconsider my punishment for him. But then I remembered that he had resolved to drinking to solve his problems, and I replied to his blameless remark with a shrug of my shoulders.

"Sorry, Bennie," I said bluntly, "but this is for yer own good, lad." And I pulled fiercely on his collar and dunked him into the cold water, soaking his body from the shoulders up.

"Jack!" he yelled, his hands gripping on the edge of the tub to keep me from pushing his head back under. "Stop! What's this about! I—" I let go of his shirt and placed a hand on his head and gripped his hair tightly, but not too tightly as to pull out some of those soft chestnut brown strands, but strong enough to get him wincing and vulnerable again. With a sigh, I pushed his head back under to give him another waking rinse and let him bob his head back out with the water dripping from his face and hair.

"Ya had enough?" I demanded, bringing his tired, rueful face close to mine. I peered suspiciously at him, sticking my chin out a bit to appear as if I was not yet pleased, and he said what I expected him to say. He said, "Yes, I have."

"All rightey then." I shoved his face back into the water for one last time and watched as he struggled to get back out, which I very well let him do after a few seconds. I didn't know why, but I found a wet Bennett a very attractive man. I almost had the urge to give him a hug and kiss on the cheek and happily say, "'Twas just a joke, love!" but I knew Marie and Griffith were not far off. Thus, for once, I missed the few luxuries of being a girl.

As soon as his head surfaced, his lips quivering from the cold and his hair sticking to the edges of his fair countenance, I gave him a firm slap on the back, producing another moan from his mouth, and he sat back, ignoring the frigidity of the water and looking at me with more of a prostrated than riled visage.

Wearily, he spoke. "What is this about, Jack?" he asked, almost letting it out as a breath. He even collapsed onto the cool grass beneath him, too aching and worn from his night of tippling to sit upright anymore. "If it has anything to do with what happened last night then—"

"Stop, Bennett," I ordered. "It _does_ concern what you did last night, and since you were gone for the whole night with no clue as to how things took place after your abrupt and rude departure, then I'll tell you."

"God dammit, Jack," he groaned, covering his eyes with his arm in an attempt to either block out the sunlight or to refrain from seeing my face. "I don't need _you_, of all people, to lecture me."

"Well, Benito, it looks like ye have no choice, 'cause I'm gonna be lecturing you anyway, whether you like it or not. And do not make the stupid protest that I am sounding too much like a parent, because it seems as though you have forgotten what it is like to have one."

He ignored me and rolled onto his side, so that I would have to be content with talking to his back instead of to his grumbling face.

"And even now you are avoiding the matter, which I find quite childlike if you ask me, Benito." His sole reply was a mumbled arrangement of curses. "Seeing that you don't mind me continuing, I'll just go on to how awful you made the Clydes feel, especially Ian's wife, who, might I add, is pregnant." I darted a harsh look at him but his back was still turned to me, so with a roll of my eyes I pressed on. "You had the nerve to stress her with your exit on the dinner she prepared especially for you and your family. Now, if I recall, _that_ is something one would call _rude_. And, oh dear," I scoffed. "Mister Bennett was _rude_ for once? The apocalypse must be near! The world is gonna end!" I heard him snort at the joke and I grinned to myself.

"Now, despite the fact that you disgraced your father and humiliated the Clydes, they still couldn't help but feel responsible for you and so all of them, _including_ your father, stayed up well into the night, hoping for your return. Even _I_ was stupid enough to do the same." I felt my own anger at him boiling up, and he seemed to take note of it with a more curled back.

"By God, your father stayed up until midnight, Ian stayed up until two, and you know how long _I_ stayed up for you, you ungrateful, spoiled, bleeding piece of horse manure! I stayed up until five waiting for you to come back and here Miss Prissy Marie informs me that you got yourself absolutely sottish to the point of lunacy! Well, isn't that just the _best_ picture of who you are, Bennett. I am positive it is."

Silence followed. Not even a peep or another grouch of annoyance came from him. He merely continued to lie on the grass, body curled and face shadowed away from the sun.

"Bennie," I sighed, through with the lecture and moving on to the sympathy I felt that he needed. "I understand that yer dad ain't the best fellow in the world. Mine isn't either. But you got his blood in you, mate, so you'll have to square with that one day. If you hate your father, you hate yourself. And I dunno about you, but I'm not one for hating meself. Some things you can't change, Bennie."

He didn't reply directly after. I heard a soft sniffle come from him and I knew he was thinking about what I said. He always did. Ever since my first true conversation with him, he knew never to underestimate the words of Jack Barlow. And although I knew he despised being scolded, especially by me, he still understood that there was a meaning behind everything. And finally, I heard something come from him.

"I wish I could," he murmured, before getting up to his feet and hobbling back to the backdoor of the kitchen and shutting it behind him.

_Oh, Bennett,_ I thought, looking at the door with heavy, remorseful eyelids. _I wish I could tell you how I understand._ But he was in no mood to be told that Jack Barlow was really Astrid Turner Sparrow. The moment would come eventually, and I hoped it would come soon.

Miss Marie Griffith insisted that I stay until Bennett was in a gentler frame of mind, and with Griffith right behind her listening and giving me that overly protective brotherly glare, I had no choice but to surrender to her wishes despite how mortifying they were. I was in a very bad place if Marie Griffith honestly fancied Jack Barlow, which she should not have been anyway. What kind of a woman _wouldn't_ mind having a man like Bennett? I sure didn't. Yet apparently, Miss Marie had eyes for younger prey.

A soft gurgling noise came from my stomach and I writhed inside at my lack of food. I could not possibly ask Marie for any food because I would never _ever_ catch myself dead eating food from Griffith's home. The delectable items offered to me could have very well been poisoned. And so I had no other option but to contain my hunger and hope that Roland saved me breakfast just as I had asked him.

"Jack," said Marie, noticing the frown on my face. "Are you all right?" She sat across from me, her brow slightly wrinkled at my strange behavior with a book resting in her lap. She closed it and placed it on the small table between us and got up from her seat, approaching me. "Are you hungry? I could send for tea a bit early if that would make you happier." I bit my lip, feeling my mouth water at the offer and recalling the wonderful taste of tea and biscuits and—no. I had to stay strong.

"I'm fine, Miss," I managed, my stomach rumbling all the louder. "I think it's about time I got Bennett an' head outta here."  
I didn't even get the chance to stand up because Marie immediately stood in front of my path and stopped me. "Bennett's not ready to leave yet," she said, her voice rising as she realized her plan to get what she wanted was not working perfectly.

"Actually," said a voice directly behind her. With a squeal, she gasped and spun around, giving me the opportunity to get up. With both hands covering her open mouth she met eyes with her supposed fiancé, Bennett. "I'm quite ready to leave," he said, dressed back into his uniform and looking quite clean and handsome.

"Oh, but you _can't_ leave, Gareth," she said, coming close to him and resting her arm across his shoulder and looking up at him with a pout and watering eyes. I twitched inside at the action. And I thought Alexandra Westley was bad enough. "You've barely spent any time with me. Please, stay. We can take a carriage 'round to the shore and stroll about and—" I refused to listen to anymore of her seductive lies. Bennett was an idiot to believe a word she said, and so why was I not surprised when he decided to stay and please his lovely darling?

"Jack," he said, grinning with a blushing face as Marie clung to him, her white, gloved hand resting on his chest. I almost exploded, which was odd because there was no reason for me to feel jealous. After all, Bennett was just a friend. I had Adam… wherever the damn brute was. "Do you mind staying?" he asked. Marie sent me a sly look, as if she expected me to say yes, and I could only grind my teeth. I could have swatted her pretty face.

"No, sir," I replied with little hesitation, but by the look on my face I couldn't have been angrier.

"Good!" cried Marie. "Bennett, darling, I'd love a song. Would you play for me?"

Bennett, although a bit stunned by her sudden outburst, quietly obliged and made his way to the grand pianoforte in the room, Marie's stare not tracing his steps (as I was), but rather keeping her eyes on the side of my head.

"What shall I play?" he asked gruffly, not at all happy with what was going on. Marie took a few swift steps forward and laid her piercing blue eyes on me, and I regretted ever meeting her.

"A minuet, Gareth. And Jack," she said, leaning forward to me. "Will you dance with me while Bennett plays?" _Absolutely not, you horrid little wench!_

"Of course he will," said a voice entering the room. Griffith marched in primly, a glass of some drink in his hands and nonchalantly took a sip and gestured for me to dance with his sister. I assumed Bennett was already burning in flames, but I had no choice. Griffith ordered it, and whatever Griffith wanted, he got, or those who disobeyed him would be beaten senseless or killed. And I treasured my life too much to be insubordinate.

Reluctantly, I joined hands with Marie, growing sicker to my stomach with every wink and smile she gave me.

_Oh Lord, help me._

Well, it was no shocking ordeal that as soon as I shared a dance with Marie that Bennett could no longer tolerate the interaction and did not waste a second to haul me out of the Griffiths' property. But I didn't mind being thrown out because Bennett decided it was time he head back to Nattie and Ian's home anyway. Though, by the looks of it, he would have rather wanted to kill me than go back to his friend's residence.

He didn't bother to borrow one of Griffith's carriages, though I honestly would have liked to have ridden in one on account of all the walking I did that morning to find him. But the exalted young Mister Bennett was as stubborn as any man, no matter how kind and gentle he might have been most of the time. He merely stomped down the driveway, nearly dragging me with him, for my clumsy feet could not keep up with his pace.

"Bennett," I began, trying to wrench my arm from his grasp, but it seemed as though _he_ felt responsible for keeping an eye on _me_, which would normally be how it was done. But in most cases, I found myself looking out for _him_. "I think you're about to pop my arm from its joint, mate," I teased with a wincing grin.

He spoke not a word, but released his grip on my arm, and I gave my shoulder a few good rubs while following him. "Now, I don't know why you're so upset," I mumbled, keeping a good distance between us. Friend or not, I knew when to stay out of Bennett's way and not to, especially after his profound argument with his haggard father.

Silence again.

"If you think that I should know the reason why you are angry with me then give me a nod, Bennie." But the poor lad would not even do that effortless action for me. Although it was like me to hit him back for his refusal to speak and to berate him for being such an ass, I held my tongue and stayed my hands. _Benito, you fool._ _You are my friend and I lo—_

I shook my head at the thought.

True, Bennie was almost the best friend anyone could have and I loved him as such in many ways. Yet, for the oddest reason, I just wanted to embrace him and apologize with the stupidest hope of being returned the affection. _Oh, shut up, Astrid. Bennett is engaged and you are promised to a fine young man named Adam Locke who is oceans away from you._ It was hard to be around so many men and not feel the slightest bit loved like a true girl, and again my lost girlish comforts were haunting me. "Bennie," I said again.

He moved onward, not even turning his head back to look at me. And my urge to let fly that hug was making me shake. Why on earth was I feeling so guilty? It was not like I betrayed him in any way. Besides, it was his Marie who had invited me to dance, so why was he angry with _me_?

An apology was yearning to pop from my lips, but I dug my teeth into my tongue to keep it from happening. _Please talk to me, Bennett. I'm willing to understand if you'd but give me the chance. There are many people out there who love you. Even I, l—_

"I'm sorry, Bennett." It almost came out as a yell to ensure that he'd hear me, and he did.

He came to a halt and slowly turned around to me, his face expressionless but seemingly harder than the stone of a cold statue's face. His eyes bore into mine for but a few seconds and then the image of his shining blue orbs vanished into the air.

"Are you going to go in?" he asked, and I wondered what he was talking about. Then it came to my attention that we stood at the base of the Clydes' driveway and as my eyes followed the dirt path to Nattie's front porch, I spotted the familiar, but distant faces of my companions.

"If you go too," I answered, the closest thing I could get to an embrace to show him that I was sincere being a mere rub on his shoulder. And even when I did it, his stiff shoulder barely budged with submission.

So I left him to follow me while I hurried up the driveway, being welcomed back by my mates. And as wonderful as it was to finally have Bennett back and to be the one who brought him, my heart still felt the vaguest sort of malcontent, as if something was missing, but I didn't know what.

"Another serving, sir?" rang a small voice in my left ear. My eyes shot up from my plate of food and to the maid and the serving tray in her hands beside me.

"No, thank you," I managed, before looking back to my unfinished meal and poking my fork weakly into the cooked eggs and sausage and other rich food.

"And you, sir?" I heard the maid say to the man sitting across from me.

"No," answered the man. "I'm quite content. But thank you." And with the soft rustle of skirts, the maid exited the room, leaving me and the man alone to finish our meal.

Obviously, the man I was dining with was none other than Bennett, the both of us being the ones who did not receive a filling breakfast. Roland, Dobbin and Andre had left some while ago to take a better tour of the city, and so I could not return to their jolly selves to escape my problems with Bennett.

I slipped another handful of food onto my fork and was about to shove it into my face, but my mouth wouldn't open. My stomach was knotting with an odd mix of feelings, and I was in no mood to decipher what they were. I felt… unstable and embarrassed, but for what reason?

With a moan, I dropped my fork and shoved the plate away from me when I realized my foot was shaking. _Dammit_, _can't I be relaxed and normal and at ease for one bloody second!_ "Tell Nattie and her cook that the food was wonderful," I murmured before scooting out of my seat and out of the dining hall.

"Remember Jack, Astrid," I whispered to myself as I stepped into the den. "Remember that song… that song… your lullaby. Your favorite song in the world that Jack taught you. Remember why you're here and don't be a stupid girl and get carried away with the men." I didn't bother to check the room for anyone. The only people I feared were Bennett and Andre and neither of them was within hearing range.

I walked over to Ian's lovely pianoforte and sat my bottom on its polished bench before tapping the keys as I let my annoyance and pressure flow away. "_Yo ho, yo ho a pirate's life for me._"

I searched the long line of black and white keys for one that could start the tune, and through a strategy of guess and check, I eventually found the right key and fumbled my way to playing the tune that lulled me to sleep as a baby.

Suddenly, a piece of paper fell from the music rest above the keyboard, disrupting the movement of my index finger across the keys, and I picked it up, looking at the page. The song was titled, "My Love is like a Red, Red Rose."

"I wonder how this goes," I said aloud, examining the notes on the withered page. I sang the first word, and frowned. It didn't seem in key, and I had no Miss Smith to tell me to go higher or lower. But then again, I was never good at reading music from the beginning.

"My Love is like a Red, Red Rose," said a person behind me, and I nearly jumped from shock at the voice. I whisked my head around and saw Bennett standing behind me, his eyes on the sheet of music stuck in my hands. "It's a Scottish tune, undoubtedly Ian's."

"How's it go?" I asked, forgetting that he was angry with me. I had become so absorbed in the musical moment that I decided to forgive him. After all, the lad was finally talking to me again. I normally would have replied with a, "hmph!" but for the sake of friendship, I didn't. "Do you know?"

"Perhaps you should have Ian play it. He's the one with the Scottish ancestry."

"He had a tiresome night. I'd rather not disturb him more, sir," I said, my guilt getting a hold of me again. I truly had a larger conscience than I did before, and I wasn't sure if I liked it very much. But I wanted to spend more time with Bennett; just enough to get us back to mates. So I decided a little humility was needed. "Ye see, Ben, I started t'sing it, but I believe I'm off key. Ye can play the notes and—"

"Well," huffed Bennett, interrupting me and taking a seat on the bench. "If you are going to push me, I might as well." I carefully placed the music sheet on the wooden rest before his eyes and gave him his space to play the song. "The English will hate me for this," he said with a bit of sarcasm. And I only replied, saying, "I'm English, Bennie, and I don't hate ye one bit." But that only made him blush. I really needed to be more of a man and less of a girl if I was going to protect myself.

He raised his long, tanned fingers onto the keys and as if counting a steady beat in his head he began to play and _sing_ the sweet Scottish air.

_O, my love is like a red, red rose,  
That's newly sprung in June;  
O, my love is like a melody  
That's sweetly played in tune.  
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,  
So deep in love am I;  
And I will love thee still, my dear,  
till all the seas gone dry._

_Till all the seas gone dry, my dear,  
And the rocks melt with the sun;  
And I will love thee still, my dear,  
While the sands of life shall run._

But fare thee well, my only love!  
O, fare thee well awhile!  
And I will come again, my love,  
Though 'twere ten thousand mile.  
Though 'twere then thousand mile, my love,  
Though 'twere ten thousand mile,  
And I will come again, my love,  
Though 'twere ten thousand mile.

My mouth sat a-gape and speechless as his lovely hands came to a stop, and his voice had sadly died away. Bennett had certainly held out on his mates for I had never heard such a voice sing! Miss Smith would have loved this boy! And the words he sang were sung with feeling as if he meant whatever he was saying, but I knew he wasn't. All he had to do probably was remember his Marie. Though, I honestly wished that he had sung such a romantic tune to me.

"Bennett, you wily little bastard!" I shrieked attacking him with a playful beat on his shoulders. "Since when did ye learn t'sing like _that_! My God! Twas like a voice from the heavens!" He smirked timidly, aware of his talent but afraid to be an arrogant bloke and admitting it.

"Thank you, Barlow," he mumbled. And just to lighten him up a bit, I peered at him suspiciously with squinted eyes.

"Yer not a eunuch are you?" Immediately his eyes blazed but I countered it by laying a hand on his shoulder and cracking a grin. "I'm jus' toyin' wi' ye, Benito. But by God, can you sing."

"I had a very good teacher, Jack."

"Yes, I know. It wa' Ian. I ain't got a dull memory. Go on, play another one," I urged, stupidly inching closer to him on the piano bench. And as soon as I averted my eyes back to his hands to see if they'd start tapping the keys again, I noticed a strange ring on his right hand.

Something about it was so bloody familiar. There was the thick golden band and crimson jewel pasted directly in the middle with strange engravings winding around it.

"What are you looking at?" asked Bennie, and I shook a bit and pointed at his hand.

"Your… ring. It's… I dunno. I know I've seen that before…" Without his permission, I leaned forward and cautiously reached out to touch that ring. _Where had I seen it before?_ To solve the mystery, I looked deep into my memory for any times a ring was mentioned, and the very first thing that came up to mind was Adam's ring.

Immediately, my hands went to my neck and broke the chain that held Adam's ring and I brought it out, letting it dangle in the air. "I have one jus' like it," I said, beaming with elevating bliss. "Can I see yours?" With a shrug, he slipped it off his finger and placed it into the palm of my hand, and I brought both gems close to my eyes for precise examination.

They rings were identical. _Identical_. Not a difference between them. They weighed about the same, had the same ruby smack-dab in the middle, and the swirling carvings in the gold. "My God, Bennie," I breathed. "Our rings are the same! Look!"

The lad had no opportunity to stare with disbelief for I instantly took hold of his face and brought it close to the rings. He peered thoroughly at them, letting them roll in his fingers, tossing them up a bit to check the weight, and after a few tests, he too exclaimed with amazement that they were identical.

"Where did you get yours? I got mine from an admirer," I said eagerly.

"It was a few years ago," he said, still looking at the rings with wrinkled brows. "I was in the Caribbean. Barely stepped foot on land when a man rushed passed me and thrust the ring into my hand. It was almost as if he… he _wanted_ to be rid of it. Of course, by the way he dressed, I assumed it was something he obtained from recently captured plunder."

"A pirate?" I squawked, my eyes widening with the hope. All my mind was thinking at that moment was _Jack! Jack! Jack!_

"Probably. He wore a red bandana around his head and a bone was in his dark, clumping hair. But he swaggered off after giving me the ring. I didn't know what to do with it, and it seemed to have some value, so I decided to keep it," he replied, not really seeing the excitement in such a discovery. He was even about ready to take his back, when I closed my fingers around both rings and brought them to my chest.

"Ye ain't gonna get this back," I yelled. "They're a clue, God dammit, an' I'm keeping it."

"A clue to what?" he inquired, ready to take back his ring, but I got up from the bench and backed away from him.

"Nothing you'd be interested in," I growled, opening my hand a bit to take another glimpse of the jewels.

And that was when I saw the strange markings inside the loop of the rings.

_There was more!_

"There's writing inside the ring!" I screamed, rushing to Bennett and showing him. "They're words but I can't read it. 'Tis too small." Bennett gave me a look and happily snatched his ring back and narrowed his eyes on the writing.

"That's odd…" he whispered.

"What is?" I asked, about to get back the ring, but he knew me too well and moved it back when my hand reached for it.

"It says… '_Ruby Red Horizon. Life's Treasure A Brilliant Fool_…" He took Adam's ring and read the rest. "… '_No Gold Or Silver Can Match. The Pirate's Hidden Jewel_'."

I… could… have… _fainted_.

"Good Lord!" I screamed. "It leads to a treasure!" I leapt into the air and gave a few booming whoops and twirled about, pleased to the point of euphoria. "Don'tcha see it, Bennie!" I took his hand and hauled him up and tried to get him to jump around with me but he wouldn't do it. He was too shocked (or embarrassed) to follow my lead.

"Oh, yer hopeless," I muttered. And with a quick swipe of my hand the rings were filched from his hand and into mine.

_Jack! Jack! Jack! I'm on my way!_


	19. Under White Wings

_Chapter 19: Under White Wings_

**T**he very next morning we were summoned by Captain Carlisle, and all of us lads took one look at each other once we were informed and thought the same thing: we were all staying on the _Resolve_ and we'd be leaving very soon.

Needless to say, after discovering the strange mystery behind Bennett's and Adam's rings, I tried to piece everything together in my head when I went to sleep. Surely, the man Bennett had run into could only be Jack, for Jack's red bandana belonged only to him. Plus, Bennett described him as drunk. Of course it was Jack he had run into.

But now I was left with another mystery. Why did Jack want to get rid of such a lovely ring? What did the strange, confusing message mean? And why the hell did he leave his ship to some whore? The solution to such an odd anonymity lied elsewhere, and I had a bad feeling it would not be revealed for quite a long time. Unluckily for it though, I was dying already from the wait.

After our brief meeting with Captain Carlisle, we were all quite beatific, exiting the captain's quarters on the _Resolve_ with grins that stretched from ear to ear. It was only when we were back on land did we express our high spirits in the more suited form of cheers, howls and unconstrained gamboling. The thrill of a new voyage, new assignments and possible new adventure was too much for one man to contain.

We jumped and pranced around the docks, throwing hats in the air and giving playful punches at each other. Most of all, Andre, for he was promoted to Ordinary Seaman and was no longer confined to the meager and useless profession of ship's boy. It was decided we'd celebrate for him at Ian's home. That night would be the last moment of fun and hilarity before it was time to prepare for the ocean again. And I never felt more ready to leave because I had the perfect, concise direction of where I was heading. I knew I would find Jack at last.

The party was very amusing. Several guests all came to celebrate our departure, but more importantly, Andre's promotion. The dear lad was nearly joyful to the point of tears, for he was one step closer to becoming a true officer of His Majesty's Royal Navy despite his orphaned roots. If he didn't shed any tears over the matter, I sure did, though out of the sight of my mates of course.

And after all the drinking and dancing and cheers and tears, we finally left to go to bed. And I dreamt of treasure. I dreamt of pirates. I dreamt of a red dawn. And I dreamt of a man named Jack waiting for me.

We left the very next morning.

There was nothing new when we reached the dock. We simply walked up to Mister Jenson, and he signed our names in the ship's book and then we strolled up the gangplank, trusting that our luggage was being loaded onto the ship. There were quite a few new faces on deck when we arrived, possible friends or foes in the near future.

Mister Sumner had called for more ship's boys again, since Andre was now an Ordinary Seaman, and strangely, red haired Willard was not there. Later on, I found out he was let off because it was he who had lit a light on the night we were attacked by the French. _Serves you right, Willy_, I thought. And without Will, there was no Dan, and so Mister Sumner was forced to find four more new ship's boys. I honestly hoped I'd be promoted to something on the next voyage, for I sure wasn't about to share my hammock with someone again. But as always, I was cursed with bad luck.

My dawdling caught Mister Sumner's eye, and he called me over to the other ship's boys. He introduced me to my new 'partner' in duty and also for my hammock. He was about twelve, perhaps older, and he was around my height, and vaguely appealing. I hoped he wouldn't be any trouble.

"I'm John," he said, holding out his hand for me to shake. I did not hesitate to shake his hand, knowing if I looked at it questioningly, I'd be suspicious.

"I'm Jack," I replied, squeezing his hand rather harshly. "Ya new to this sea life?"

"Actually, no. I were on another ship 'fore this one."

"Really? Well, that's good to hear. At least I won't be bunking with someone who don't know where he's going. I dunno about you, but I think I'd like to pay a visit to the galley."

"Half rations for us, right?"

"I think so," I replied, wrinkling my eyebrows. I never paid much attention to my serving of food. Perhaps young John knew a lot more than I expected him to. "How old are ya?"

"Thirteen." I nodded with an 'aye' and spoke no further, having stuck my foot on a ladder below deck and focusing on seeing who else was new on board.

"Come on, Jack!" came John's encouraging shout as he pulled off his shirt, took a few steps back, ran forward and launched himself into the water.

We had been out to sea again for about two weeks, looking out for pirates again—not really the French, since the more experienced captains and all ranks above were taking care of that. But of course, we could land a ship full of _French_ pirates. Now that would be quite a laugh.

Occasionally, we'd discern an approaching ship, but it'd ultimately only end up being a merchant ship judging by their neutral flag and their willingness to agree to an examination by our captain, which was exactly what Captain Carlisle and his closest group of men were doing while John and several of the other boys were using our time idle to have a quick swim in the sea.

The new lot of ship's boys was not as bad as the first, and I found them all quite adorable and friendly. We had become a good band of mates, though I still managed to keep in touch with my middies and seaman. All of them were younger than me and still growing, but thankfully I didn't have to witness them doff their pants as well. I would have been cherry red if I had to watch that.

John waved a hand at me, beckoning me to join them too, but I stayed at my spot, leaning against the rail and sending them a dark look. "Oh, c'mon, Jack! What are ya afraid of?" _Being discovered_, I thought to myself.

"I can't swim," I lied, and the boys laughed.

"Yer on a ship an' ya can't swim? What good are ya then if ya fall over board?" challenged John.

"Yeah! Yer not much for helpin' the King's Navy now are ya?" said Charley, the youngest of the ship's boys.

"Hello, Jack," said a merry voice, and I jumped a bit at the arm that suddenly dropped onto my shoulders. As soon as I saw who did it, I pushed him away and sent him a small kick.

"You could try tellin' me you were comin' before creepin' up like that, Mister Turner," I griped, returning my attention to the boys that were swimming.

"What are you doing?" asked Roland, leaning down with me and as soon as he noticed the boys swimming, he gave a jolly leap. "Hey! Look! They're havin' a swim! Hey, Dob!" I shook my head at how easily boys were entertained. Swimming. I didn't need to go swimming to have fun.

A few feet trampled over, and I heard Dobbin heavily breathing. "What, Roland?" he asked bitterly.

"I'm goin' for a swim. Wanna come?" And as simple as that, Dobbin's bitterness was replaced with a sigh of relief.

"Why the hell not?" And soon enough, the two middies were removing their fine midshipman's uniforms until all they had on were their trousers and with a hoot, Roland backed up and then sprang into the water, spinning in a curled ball as he landed with a splash, and he got a few claps of approval from John and the other ship's boys.

"Your turn!" he yelled, and Dobbin thought for a moment, trying to think of a way to beat Roland's impressive dive and soon equipped with his plan, he stood on the railing backwards and flipped down into the water that way.

"Show off," I heard Roland mutter.

Then the boys were off, laughing and kicking at the water as they took the time when they were _supposed_ to be keeping watch, to go for a swim instead. It was a good thing the captain and all his lieutenants were on the merchant ship, leaving the older midshipmen in charge, and honestly, they were not a very observant group at all.

"Now it's Jack's turn!" cheered Dobbin, looking up at me with a mischievous smile. I only growled in reply.

"I told ya I can't swim!" I protested, doing whatever it took to keep me and my body away from that water. If I did, my soaked clothes would stick to me like glue and my figure would immediately be determined.

"Sure ya can!" said Roland, joining in on Dobbin's plot to get me in the water. "You saved my life after all when I went overboard."

"I was tied to a life rope, you idiot!" I snarled back, getting very irritated with their fervor.

"Fine, suit yourself. My, isn't this water just deliciously cool, Dobbin?" mocked Roland, taking a backstroke through the water. I wanted to chuck a stone at his middle and see who'd be laughing then.

"Aye, it is, Roland. It beats standing on the hot deck doing nothing but staring enviously at us for swimming, doesn't it?" That pushed me over the edge, and I turned my back to them, sitting my bum on the railing with arms crossed over my chest and glowering at the ship lying beside the starboard side of the _Resolve_.

"You look happy," remarked someone, and I turned my head to find Bennett walking over. I didn't reply, too angry at the boys to do so, and he leaned on the railing beside me, staring out into the water. "Looks like some people are having a jolly time," he observed, taking off his hat and running a hand through his damp hair. I had removed my hat a long time ago, my sweat nearly soaking it, for without a doubt the air was inescapably scorching, especially with the sun beating down on us so freely, with no sweet cloud to absorb its searing rays. Our skin was left to torture from sunburn.

"Yeah, we're having _fun_," taunted Roland. "And Jack is definitely no _fun_ because he can't even take part in _fun_ things such as _swimming_." Bennett looked over at me, amused with the joke and punched me lightly on the arm.

"Aren't you going to join them?" he asked with the confidence that I would say yes.

"No. Swim with those cads? Never," I grumbled, not budging from my seat. Bennett leaned away from the railing so that he stood upright and moved so that he stood right in front of me, thankfully blocking out the sun from my face.

"Why not? I'll go."

"What? And you think I'll follow?" I retorted, surprised that he would think that I'd do anything for him.

"Well, now I know you won't. But I order you to," he replied smartly, grinning to himself.

"Applause to Mister Bennett for threatening Jack!" whooped Roland, punching his fist into the hot, dry air.

"I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request," I snapped back, having heard the phrase often used by my mother. I hoped I did justice to her words.

"Well, that does not—"

"Give you much incentive to fight fair, now does it?" I interrupted dully, knowing very well what he would say. I understood him well enough to know his most used statements, and he particularly liked that one as a comeback. "I ain't gonna change my mind, Bennie." I only crossed my arms over my chest and glowered at the swabbed deck beneath my swinging legs.

Bennett peered at me for a moment, and then moved to the side, leaning against the larboard rail but looking at me. I could feel his stare on the side of my head. "You are very hot-headed, Jack. Do you know that?"

I was slightly shocked at his use of vocabulary. For such a well-raised and proper young man, I imagined him to never say 'hot-headed.' It was too simple a word, and from that I resolved that he was using the word for a reason, most likely a pun, and so I decided to play gullible with him.

"Yes, I know I am very stubborn," I replied plainly, refusing to return his stare.

"Perhaps you need to cool that hot head of yours then," he proposed with minutely present mockery. "Won't go well on a ship if some man manages to get you off your last nerve." As if I was unaware of his movements, he stopped leaning on the rail and stood upright again, facing the calm sea.

"Indeed," I muttered, before slipping off the railing, grabbing Bennett's shoulder and shoving him overboard. With a surprised, 'Jack!' he tumbled into the water, plummeting into it with a very large splash that showered over the other boys.

As he accustomed himself to the water, he looked up at me as he treaded in place, water dripping neatly down his face. "Satisfied, are you, Barlow?" he asked, grinning despite the formality in his voice.

"Very. Now, if you can excuse me, I'll just be down below decks catchin' up on me learning with Doctor Cavanaugh." And with a salute, I meandered down the ladder below decks, smiling widely at the murmurs the boys were sending behind my back.

Doctor Cavanaugh was not in his cabin when I came down, and so I just took one of his books to read and then headed back up to the main deck, finding below decks too dreary an atmosphere for me to be content in, especially because the heat was no different down there as it was on the top deck.

Emerging from below, I noticed a few wet, dripping feet on the larboard side of the ship and the feet belonged to the group of lads who had gone for a swim. All of them were shirtless, including Bennett, and I remembered that I was not to gawk at their glistening wet bodies. _Dammit, Astrid. Just keep walking. Up the foremast to the foretop and you'll be safe from their eyes. _Sadly for me, I was too entertained by them all that I just _had_ to have a few words with them, which only showed how more of a whore I was.

"Swim go well for you all?" I questioned, seeming very uninterested, and they all looked at me, eyebrows raised with a look of vague suspicion.

"Yes, it did," said John. "The water was very refreshing, wouldn' ye say so, lads?" They all nodded with an, 'aye.'

"Good to hear that. Now you all will be crusted with sea salt and ye'll be pruny and not to mention reek a bit, but—"

"As does every other sailor, Jack," intruded Dobbin all-knowingly. My mouth was open and ready to rebut, and yet no words came from my mouth. I was out of retorts, and recognizing my defeat, I stomped off to the foremast shrouds and scaled them until I reached the foretop, where I sat myself comfortably down and opened up Cavanaugh's book.

Only, I felt something crinkle as I sat down, and I realized it came from my shirt. Feeling around for the source, I pulled what made the noise out of my vest and noticed that it was the letter I had written to Adam some long and fine day ago. It was sealed and ready to be sent if only I knew where he was stationed. But strangely, I was afraid of sending the letter. In fact, I really didn't _want_ to send the letter anymore.

I broke the seal, figuring that if I was never going to send it, that I should just rip it up and cast it off to sea. My hand was on the edge, formed in a tearing position, but I never made the tear.

"What are you reading?" said a voice, and I nearly gasped at the intrusion, my fingers rapidly trying to refold the letter in vain.

"N-Nothing," I stuttered, attempting to be rid of the note, but instead, my energetic fingers only earned me a cut from the edge of the paper. "Damn," I hissed, bringing my forefinger to my lip and sucking the blood.

"I'm sorry I startled you," he said, and I shook my head.

"No, 'tis quite all right. I am not terribly fazed by it… at least, not so much." He smiled and took a seat beside me on the foretop, and, dare I add, he was still wearing no shirt. I was already feeling my ears getting red. Thankfully, I had the sun to blame it on if asked about it.

"Wha… What are you doing here, Bennett?"

"Well, the others have taken to watching what's happening on the merchant ship…" He pointed to the right, and I saw the lads now leaning on the starboard rail intently watching the activity on the merchant vessel. "And, well, I've been amongst ships for ages now and I do not find it very fascinating. Thought I'd see what you were up to."

"Hell, Bennie," I began, making it seem as if his decision to visit me was ridiculous. "I'm jus' readin', mate. Nothing exciting happening here." I heard a loud flap and I looked above me, seeing the white sail billow about in the wind. The anchor was down of course, so the ship was going nowhere, but it was still nice to see those white sails all puffed up and looking as if they were going in some direction.

"Is that a letter you're reading?" he inquired, pointing to the folded piece of yellow paper in my trembling left hand. "Who's it from?"

"No one you'd know," I lied.

"Another admirer?" he joked, raising his hand as if he was about to lay it on my shoulder, but he stopped himself and turned away from me, focusing his eyes somewhere else.

"No, well… yes… sort of. _To _them."

"All right," he replied, obviously taking a sudden disinterest in the subject. "Do you ever…" he paused, his face somewhat scrunching up as he tried to find the right words. "Did you ever figure out what our rings meant?" he asked, changing into the past tense.

"It obviously is a clue to finding treasure, Bennie," I said. _And Jack._ "It's funny how you obtained it. Would you describe the man who gave it to you?"

"I can't really remember a very thorough image of him. All I remember is his bandana and his odd walk. Nothing else seemed distinguishable." I pouted with disappointment and set Adam's letter down, while picking up Cavanaugh's book. The foretopsail blowing around us suddenly bloated with wind and I felt the breeze get sucked up my nose as I relished the air.

"Ya know, Bennie," I began, letting my eyes wander above at the sky and towering sails above us. "I always pictured a ship to be like… well…a bird."

"A bird?" he echoed, amused with my comparison. "How so?"

"Well, the actual ship, without the sails, is like the body of a bird. It's the base. It contains the heart of the bird and the brain which helps determine where the bird will decide to fly, which in ship's terms, would be the wheel and our good ol' coxswain."

"Go on," he encouraged, the corner of his mouth curving into a smile. He did indeed look quite beautiful in the sunlight. And his soft damp hair was slowly drying, and I was feeling very tempted to just spit out that I was a girl so that he could just take me and—I paused in my thoughts, and remembered what we were talking about in the first place.

"A bird also glides smoothly around its territory, meaning the air, and has strong feet to land. Just like a ship glides effortlessly on the sleek blue main and has an anchor to pause." Bennett looked at me, even more perplexed than before, and I knew my comparisons were rather childish and hardly significant, but I cared not. A ship was like a bird to me—a sparrow—my _freedom_.

"Now, let's take a look at the sails." I had to lean to the side and back a little, making me just a hair away from grazing Bennett's bare shoulder and pointed a finger up at the sails. "The sails direct where the ship is going, or at least harnesses the wind that moves it, thus making it like the wings of a bird."

"White wings," added Bennett, perhaps finding the romanticism in my silly contrast.

"Yes, white wings. The sails are the wings that harness the wind to take us to our destination… wherever that may be."

"Wherever you decide it to be," answered Bennett, smiling up at the bright sails. "Every ship has a destination, Jack. No one would be foolish enough to set sail with no destination in mind. That'd be like…"

"…like going through life without dreams," I finished. While my face was still upturned to gaze at the 'white wings' of our fine sea bird, I noticed Bennett looking at me from the corner of my eye, and he did not lift his gaze for quite some while. I tried to ignore it, but his interest was bothering me and intriguing me simultaneously. Perhaps more of the intrigue and less of the bother. "Wouldn't you say so, Bennett?" I asked suddenly, breaking him from his odd concentration on me.

"Y-Yes. I would indeed." He turned his head away, looking at the floor while I continued to stare up at the sky.

"The _Resolve_ is a fine sea bird," I said, literally speaking to no one, for Bennett was probably still healing from his recent encounter with humility. "Like a sparrow." _Like a certain Captain Jack Sparrow,_ I added to myself inwardly. "_Drink up me hearties, yo ho_."


	20. More than One Discovery

_Chapter 20: More Than One Discovery_

**T**wo more months we had been out to sea, making it about a year and a half since I left Port Royal. We stayed in the Mediterranean, watching out for pirates that may have been attacking British merchant ships, but we found none. We just found signs and stories that indicated there were pirates prowling the seas. I longed to find pirates, and perhaps I could sneak onto their ship with Roland, and maybe they would help me find Jack, for I knew by then that paying my loyalty to a King I could care less about would never help me find Jack. If I was looking for a pirate, I needed to _be_ amongst _pirates_. Common sense, really.

And over the weeks, Bennett was assigned more duties, being one of the best midshipmen Captain Carlisle had on his ship. Of course, Griffith was also getting several more duties, as were Roland and Dobbin, but their activities left me without anyone I could really talk to. I had my ship's boys to confide in, but none of them knew who I really was, and well, they wouldn't have been much help to me, especially after running into problems with Lonan again.

The trouble began when we had been out to sea for about a month. I saw Lonan speaking with Griffith, probably getting more orders from him, when Griffith spotted me and told me to come to him. Not wanting to get any punishment, I obeyed and saw Lonan smirk at me. Griffith was also smiling, but he always put on his sinister grin whenever he was around me.

"I assign you during drills to bring the gun cartridges from the magazine to Lonan Sullivan here, and his corresponding gun," said Griffith.

My heart dropped like an anchor.

"None of the other boys are quick enough as you are, Jack, and him being one of the best aimers of the crew, it'd be more efficient for you to serve him. Don't you agree?" I bobbed my head without looking at him, feeling my stomach ache with worry. "Good. Carry on." I hurriedly left their company, but not without catching a few glances at their faces, and both of them had eyes suddenly sparked with that eerie white flame.

I ran into Bennett while I headed back to the top deck, and, relieved at his sight, I immediately spurted, "I need to talk to you." But he pulled away, continuing to walk to the captain's quarters. "Bennett! Please!"

"I can't, Jack. My duty lies with the captain at this moment, not with a ship's boy." The guards at the captain's doors let Bennett through, and he vanished into the captain's quarters without so much as a second glance. _Damn you_, I thought. _Something is seriously amiss on this ship and you won't take the time to listen._

With Bennett off to tend to the Captain, I thought I'd try and find the others. But Roland and Dobbin were on watch, and Andre didn't seem to care much about my dilemma. He just told me to let the matter go for a while and that Lonan would stay out of my way. Being an Ordinary Seaman, I thought he might keep an eye on Lonan for me, but he said he wouldn't; he wouldn't agree to going against someone, claiming that it'd lead to mutiny. I had no choice but to try and solve it myself, but my solutions were always so full of fault. So much for having the mind of a pirate.

I wasn't able to concentrate after that day, having to see Lonan continuously while doing drills. I was thankful the day we spotted a helpful hint to where the pirates were. There were no drills and search parties were formed, and I was on one of them with Roland.

On that morning, the officer of the watch, Lieutenant Johnson, spotted smoke. It turned out that the smoke was coming from a burning settlement, everything nearly black ash when we laid our eyes on it in the pale morning sun. Captain Carlisle was immediately furious, and he ordered his lieutenants to organize search parties. There were to be seven, and I was in one of them.

"My God, Jack," breathed Roland, leaning out on the side of the jolly boat we were in, looking at the approaching burning shore. "They scorched everything. And the fire still looks fresh."

"You don't think it'd be… you know…" I wondered, leaning out with him.

"I doubt it. He's not barbaric… is he?"

"Of course not! He ain't a bleedin' murderer! He's better than that. A lot better."

The boat scraped against the shore and we leapt out, heading for the wreckage. It was hard to breathe and see through the smoke, so I took off the bandana I had tied around my head and tied it around my mouth. Roland did the same with his neckerchief, and together we wandered into the burning village.

Houses were but black stick frames that were crumbling into fresh ashes as the fire ate them away. There was no telling what went where, what building was what, or if there were people, because everything was either black ash or well on its way to it. The air was now smoke, and the sky had taken a hellish gray and red tint. Not to mention that the ground was burned, crunching as we cautiously stepped through the debris.

"This is horrible," I whispered, and Roland nodded, leading me to the interior of the dying frame of a house. It would have been quite large, if not burned to the ground, and was therefore of some importance. _Maybe the mayor or governor's house,_ I thought.

"Look over there, while I check here for any evidence," ordered Roland.

I crouched down beside what seemed to be a large heap of burnt wood, and I wondered how it came to be in a pile and kicked at it with my boot until I saw a round black mass hidden from within. I cleared away the area and noticed it was a very clean cannonball, making for a clear and concise shot from aboard the boat. I put a hand close to it, just to feel if it was still hot, and it wasn't. So I picked it up and examined it carefully, getting my hands covered with soot from the burnt wood.

As my fingers prodded here and there for any markings, my nail scratched against a groove and then another and I turned the ball around and saw that two letters were etched into the cannonball. "B…P…" I said. _B… P… what can that stand for?_

"The _Black Pearl_," I said, smiling to myself. "So she has come all the way from the Caribbean? Perhaps she's looking for me." I snickered at the thought and gathered the cannonball in my arms before calling Roland over and telling him of my discovery.

We headed back to the Captain then, who was waiting on shore supervising the search, and eagerly, I ran to him and revealed the cannonball in my arms.

"It has initials, sir," I said, pointing them out with a smile. "B and P. They should stand for the _Black Pearl_ since that is the only pirate ship out there that can possibly—"

"Fascinating discovery, Barlow," he interrupted, holding the cannonball at level with his eyes. "Thank you for your doing your duty and reporting this to me. And also, thank you for your rather impressive postulation to the mother ship of this cannonball."

"Thank you, sir," I said, grinning widely. He nodded at me and called for his lieutenants to clear the search.

"Carry on, Barlow. Job well done."

I took Roland's arm and while we walked back to the boats, I expressed my joy to him. "That lady captain is out there, Roland, which means the _Pearl_ is out there, and I can reclaim it for Jack!"

"But you still won't have an idea of where to find him," mumbled Roland, apparently not sharing my same joy.

"Oh, shut up," I groused. "I will. I'll have the ship and the crew, and I bet you _they_ know where Jack is and they can just tell me. But what I'm wondering is why the _Pearl_ is here in the Mediterranean instead of the Caribbean."

"How should I know?" answered Roland gruffly and I gave him a shove.

"She's looking for us," I said, almost certain of it. "She seemed so intrigued by us, and especially _you_, when we ran into her at Port Royal. She must have been looking for us. After all, I held Adam's ring, which happens to lead to some treasure and—"  
"You are getting a bit excited, brother," said Roland. "Best keep your mouth shut before Thorne sends you another warning look." He pointed somewhere and I followed his finger, and realized that Thorne was indeed glaring at me for being quite loud in such a dreadful environment.

"Fiddle-de-dee," I sang. "I don't care. I just got meself another clue!"

Clue or not, my joy was severely ephemeral. It barely lasted for two hours when I got word we'd be going to Egypt, where some of Napoleon's troops and ships were stationed. Returning to land would only mean one thing: we wouldn't be hunting pirates for long again, dammit.

But at least I had found a clue, making the rest of the day somewhat bearable. Captain Carlisle and his team were quite absorbed in trying to locate the position of the _Black Pearl_, while we sailors were left to doing our usual duties of drills, sails, and swabbing the decks. I honestly wanted Carlisle to find the _Pearl_ as soon as possible, for I was growing mad with the wait. Everything I wanted was right at my fingertips but I still couldn't bloody reach any of it at all. I was still waiting for my opportune moment (yet again).

The days that passed were fairly pleasant, and we went from pleasant days to pleasant weeks, to more pleasant months, and still, no sign of my father's ship. How good was the _Pearl's_ recent captain to have evaded our eyes for such a long time? I prayed that it was all due to bad luck for us, because if her new captain was _that_ good at navigating, I would be in trouble if I dared to start a mutiny.

Though, it never went unnoticed to me, despite how engrossed I was in my plot to desert, commandeer the _Pearl_, and find my daddy at last, that Bennett was being a bit of a pain in the arse. Not that he was bothering me. He did, in fact, stay out of my way very well, and that was the problem.

He didn't want to talk to me anymore, especially after that moment in the sails with him. Since then, he acted quite aloof, using his duties as an excuse to avoid my confrontation. I questioned Roland and Dobbin about him, but they all were just as clueless as I was. His behavior got me so worried about our relationship (in terms of friendship, of course), that I almost suggested speaking with Griffith, but I soon had my answers to Mister Gareth Bennett's reticent manners.

The Captain had ordered for us to dock by the Barbary coastline, in the Gulf of Sidra. Roland had informed me we were close to Egypt, our country of destination, and I knew Bennett had mentioned Egypt before. He even seemed quite excited about going to Egypt when he mentioned it, but one country away from the place and Mister Gareth was still being a remote arsehole. Not just to anyone, but only to me. I even saw him happily chatting away with Griffith one time, and during his duties, I saw him and Roland sometimes talking too. And that only made me angrier, the no good snot.

Once on land, or rather, desert, the men searched about at once for the location of fresh water and fruit, for we had run out of a source of citrus on our voyage. Why we needed the fruit, I never understood, and I found it too insignificant a matter to be brought up to my dear brother. I already had enough on my back as it were.

The air of the Barbary Desert was painfully inescapable. It was dry and very close, making it feel as if one's whole body was covered in a sheet of pure burning sunlight. My skin was already quite sunburned from all the time swabbing the decks, but in the desert with no shelter whatsoever to protect one's skin, the heat was a killer. After unloading just a few items and setting up a few tents into the sandy ground, the men were all red and sweaty, and I was beyond a happy state. I refused to work and unload things from the ship, and was therefore assigned to help find water. And that time, I made sure that no one was following me, for I had other things in mind when I had found water and no bloody man would witness it.

With a moan, I slipped in the sizzling desert sand and crashed into the searing grains, my flesh feeling as if it was being baked as my skin came in contact with the heat contained in the sand.

"For the love of God," I mumbled, spitting out some sand in my mouth. "Let me find some damn water." I got up onto my feet and proceeded walking again, tossing a quick turn of my head over my shoulder just in case someone was following me. No one was there.

Of course, I had little reason to worry, for I doubted any man would have wanted to venture out into a golden sea of boiling heat for hours. I was quite far from the camp by the shore, and I meant to keep it that way. In such weather, I would die if I did not shed some of my clothing, and in privacy could that only be arranged.

In the blurred environment in front of me, I saw a patch of green not far away. Squinting, I stopped my footsteps and stared at the dot of emerald, wondering if it was even real in the transparent waves of heat I could see streaming in front of me.

"Could it be?" I asked myself, letting out a breath. "Only one way to find out." Gathering up the rest of my energy, I treaded through the sand towards the green patch, using a hand as a visor to keep the sun out of my eyes.

When the image did not vanish as I neared it, my hopes grew, and from stumbling, I found the heart to start running, or rather, walking briskly, until the beautiful and most lovely sound of water entered my ears.

"Oh, praise the Lord!" I cried, throwing my hands up in the air and giving a victorious jig.

The oasis was fairly large. Good enough for a few people to bathe, but I smiled mischievously inside. No man would find out until I had finished my business there. It was mine until I told someone. I doffed my shirt and vest and flung off my boots, leaving me in my knee-length trousers and the small black vest that I wore over the cloth tied around my chest.

Stepping back a bit, I ran forward and dove into the water. Some water naturally made its way into my mouth and I found it to be fresh and cool, which would serve well in regrouping. "I'll swim today, take my bath tomorrow, and then I'll hand over this wonderful oasis to the smelly, grimy old men," I laughed. "I can't wait to find you Jack, and I can't wait to throttle who ever stole your ship."

It was early evening, and the lads were all gathered once again around a fire. With the sun gone, the lads were thankfully dressed back in their shirts, and weren't walking around with bare chests, as I found them to be when I returned from my swim. But even with the sun gone, the air was still mildly annoying. Roland's nose was red and Dobbin's whole face was bright scarlet. Poor lads.

"I think I might go to sleep early tonight," yawned Dobbin, stretching his arms and back, only to suddenly wince as he bent his over. "Damn sun. My back's gotta be redder than a tomato."

"You're face already is," I commented, and he glared at me before trying to ease the soreness in his back.

"How the hell can you tolerate your sunburn?" asked Roland, twitching his burnt nose.

"I dunno. Comes naturally, I guess," I lied. I could tolerate my sunburn because I wasn't at all as sunburned as they were.

"Bastard," he muttered, and I only smiled in return.

"What's everyone complaining about?" came a voice, and I lost my grin at the sound of it.

"The usual," replied Roland with a grimace. "Heat, food, and work. You're welcome to join us if you'd like. Take a seat next to Jack." And quickly, almost in a pleading manner, Bennett answered with a rushed and very shocking, 'No.'

Seeing the strange looks on Dobbin's and Roland's faces, he spit out the excuse that he had a lot of things to do for the captain in the morning, and irked by the fact that he was trying to get out of being within five feet of me, I stood up and marched over to him, stuffing my fists into my pants pockets in order to keep myself from attacking him.

"What are ya? The captain's slave?" I growled, knowing I had hit a dangerous point by bringing slavery into the conversation. "Yer a middy jus' as these lads are. Why so much work for poor, unfortunate Benito, aye?" I looked him straight in the eye and it appeared as if he wished to back away from me, but I would not let him leave until I had my answers.

"I've been a midshipman for almost four years, Jack. Griffith isn't the only one with the possibility of becoming a lieutenant. I've worked hard to get where I am now, and with my experience, Captain Carlisle obviously trusts me to handle his work."

"Of course," I replied, not believing his story for on second. "Captain loves ye so much, Bennie. Yer such a good lad, aren't ya? Never pickin' fights or disappointin' anyone. Why, no wonder Captain adores ye."

"Jack," I heard Roland begin, but his plea was not heeded.

"Why am I not surprised you talk dirty, Jack?" retorted Bennett. "After all, you're the infamous Jackaroe, aren't you? Rebellious charmer from afar?" I stomped my foot and seized his shirt collar, snorting like a bull from his remarks, and only proving his point all the more.

"You bloody bastard!" I snarled, but Bennett returned just as serious a stare and was not daunted by my threats, and his strong resolve in response to my violence was what threw me in defeat. Slowly letting go of him, he dusted off his shirt before addressing Roland and Dobbin.

"Goodnight, lads," he said, before sending me a most livid glare that I never thought I would see. _Wait a while, Astrid,_ I thought. _You'll get him to speak before dawn._

"What the hell was that about?" asked someone, and I whisked my head around, startled by the interruption. It was Andre, and he came with some fruit in his hands.

"Nothing," I said, dumping my self on the ground again. "Just your usual spat between ship's boy and midshipman." Andre bent down and dug his fist in my hair and tossed the fruit in his hands to Roland and Dobbin who eagerly took them.

"Where'd you find those?" I asked, wondering if he had found my secret oasis.

"Didn't. Some men walked over to the nearest village when the air was less hot and came back with them. Want one?"

"No," I politely declined.

"Suit yerself, but honestly, Jack. Ye gotta eat just a little bit. You can get sick if you don't." I shrugged my shoulders in reply as the boys gnawed at the strange fruits. My mind was drifting elsewhere again, plotting a way to get alone with Bennett and finally have him speak.

When the stars had dotted the sky and the moon was in full view, I decided it was time to find Bennie again and get a confession from him. Lieutenant Thorne had called for the Off-watches to be asleep, and I did sleep, for about an hour or two before waking up in the tent I slept in with the other ship's boys. John was right beside me, snoring away, and cautiously, in the pitch blackness of the tent, I got up and probed my way through to the back of the tent, making sure not to run into too many limbs.

Once free, I was under the night sky again, with only the light of the moon and stars to guide me, and I furtively crawled low to the ground for the midshipmen's tent, where Bennett was resting. I kept an eye out for Thorne's white wig, but he was sitting by the watch fire, talking to his mates and barely focusing on the tents, so I managed to get to Bennett's tent without much trouble.

Entering from the back, I lifted the bottom flap of the tent and crept in, peering into the darkness to focus my vision. Thankfully, a lantern hung dimly from the top of the tent, and I could tell face from face. Bennett was on the far end of the tent, close to the entrance, seemingly in an uncomfortable sleep. I looked at the possible paths I could take in order to reach him. One would bring me by Roland, Dobbin, and some other older middy, and the faster way would have me pass by Griffith and his lecherous dreams. Wisely, I chose to take the long way.

Upon reaching the side of Bennett's cot, since all midshipmen slept on cots instead of on the floor like us poor ship's boys, I knelt down and looked at him. Even in his sleep he looked beautiful, but I didn't let my girlish dreams get the hold of me. Carefully, I lowered my hand towards his mouth, and on impulse, pressed it down over his jaw, and at once, his eyes shot open and searched frantically for the intruder: me. As soon as he saw my face, I saw his brows wrinkle in a frown, and I only grinned and gestured to him with my finger to follow me out. He was willing, though grumbling as we exited.

I led him away from the encampment, walking for at least ten to fifteen minutes before I believed we were safe from their view. "What is this about, Jack?" he put forth at last, looking at me disapprovingly.

"Shouldn't you know, Bennett? Why, this is due to your own odd behavior," I answered, placing my hands on my hips and facing him with just as disappointed a face.

"Odd behavior? I have simply been busy, Jack," he defended, but his refusal to elaborate had me dismiss his excuse with a wave of my hand.

"No man is _that_ busy, Bennett. The Captain is less busy than that, and he has been trying to find the _Pearl_ for ages now."

"And that is exactly why the rest of us have so much work, perhaps not you, but other officers. Captain Carlisle has been searching too long for this phantom ship that continues to attack settlements but is never seen. And what makes it worse is that our pace is slowing due to dying winds, and we now have to stay on land for a few weeks re-supplying. We've spent weeks out here, Jack, and we haven't found anything."

"Is that it?" I asked, unimpressed. "Just because we have some dying winds and shortage of food and water, you think it is all right not to talk to me? We haven't had a direct conversation, Bennett, for weeks!"

"Perhaps that's how it should stay then, seeing as the conversation we're having now is only full of arguing."

"But why, Bennett?" I asked. "Aren't we mates? Can't you talk to me about anything? I see you talkin' to Griffith and Dobbin and Roland, and you all have such happy words to say, but with me? Nothing. While before, I couldn't have been happier to listen to what you had to say." His face hardened at this, and he turned away, leaving me to gaze at his back.

"It's not just the bad luck we've been having, Jack," he said, and I moved around him and his back so that I could look at his face again.

"Then what else could there be, Bennett?"

"There've been rumors going on. The men are restless again, being away from home for weeks now doing nothing, really. And… and now we have… fairy business to add to it all." I raised my eyebrows at the shocking bit of news.

"_Fairies_?" I echoed. "You are telling me that you haven't been able to speak with me because of _fairy_ nonsense going on, Bennie? Oh, so now we got a bunch of buggers on our ship, Bennie? Is that what you're saying?" I almost wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of such a reason. Sure, fairies were always quite a story on a ship, but they were just rumors. None of it was real, just as Roland was called a fairy for being a good boy.

Why, I was called a fairy by Dobbin millions of times, and no one took it very seriously. Unfortunately, Bennett still remained oddly silent. "What, Bennie? Are you saying one of the crew members is a fairy? Pray tell, if you please. Who is it? Dobbin? Andre? John? Roland? God forbid, Griffith?"

"No!" he retorted, getting irritated with my zeal in the awkward subject. "It's none of them, so you can stop asking!" I put a finger to my chin and pretended to think for a moment.

"Is it me?" I questioned, perhaps too teasingly for my own good.

"No! It's not you! Good God, Jack, you find interest in the oddest of thi—"

"I'm jus' wonderin', Bennett," I interrupted. "Wouldn't hurt to know who this bleedin' fairy is…Is it the captain?" That was enough to send him over the top, and he whirred on me, furiously frustrated with my purposeful stupidity.

"No! For God's sake! No! It's not him! It's not them! It's not you! It's me, all right? Me! _Me_! God dammit!" He turned around and violently kicked sand away from the ground, his usually proper mouth shouting a numerous array of curses, while I stood dumb in my place, watching him.

I stayed silent and open-mouthed while I witnessed his release of emotion onto the poor, defenseless sand, but after a few minutes, he calmed down and sat himself on the ground, head buried in his hands. "_You're_the fairy?" I questioned.

He didn't answer. I grinned inside, almost certain that I had known it all along. And, being the pain in the arse I was, I knelt down in front of him and looked at him, smirking my mischievous grin.

"To anyone I might know?" He looked up at me, not at all happy with the question. His blue eyes were ablaze even in the pale moonlight. "Hmm?" He didn't answer. "Oh, c'mon, Bennie. It's gotta be someone we both know. Is it to Griffith? Roland? Dobbin?" My guesses only had him briefly explode again.

"No, Jack! I'm not turning fairy to everyone, dammit."

"Then… to who?" A long pause followed, and Bennett had turned his gaze to the side, refusing to look at me as I inched closer to him. "To who?" I repeated. And then his answer came out strongly, but not so resolute as to say that he was proud of it.

"To _you_."

"To _me_?" I gasped, almost feeling as if I was whacked in the face with the astounding words.

"Yes, to _you_!" shouted Bennett severely, directing his stiff hands in my direction.

I was infallibly stupefied by his confession, barely able to stay on my feet as I attempted to absorb everything he said, but my astonishment was getting the better of me.

Bennett liked _me._ That was all I had to know, but I doubted myself too much to accept it as truth yet. "Bennett," I began, and he turned to me fiercely, highly irritated and perhaps on the verge of erupting into flames. "I… I do not mean to impugn on your…admission, but I… I… I'm just a bit, well, bewildered. I mean, it's not everyday that I am told that a man admires me."

"Oh, go and make fun!" glowered Bennie, spinning around and immediately stomping back to the encampment, fists clenched and sitting like immobile stones by his sides.

"Bennett!" I cried pleadingly. "You grumpy young man! Come back!" I ordered.

"Why should I? All you'll do is taunt me again!" I snorted at his remark. He felt as if everyone was out to get him and to make his life miserable.

"You misunderstood what I was trying to say, and you never even allowed me to finish what I had to say in the first place!" Stubborn as a mule, he walked on, adamant to keep his pride until the end of his days. As always, I grew annoyed with his persistence to get away from me and ran after him. "Bennie!" I called again, perhaps too desperately.

"Turn back, Jack, for you obviously still need time to recover from my humiliating confession," he returned curtly. I only sprinted onward, preparing my legs for a jump as I neared him, and as soon as he was within arms reach, I made my move and pounced on him, landing us both on the ground. Me on top of him. To ensure his stay, I sat on his abdomen, much to his discomfort and watched him writhe in serious uneasiness while I crossed my arms in disdain for his behavior.

"What the hell are you doing, Jack?" he asked, more as an order than a question. "Get off me!"

"No, Bennie. I ain't gonna move until you give me your attention. Now stop jittering about!" I slapped his face lightly and while looking at me with a confused and vaguely disturbed countenance, I leaned forward a bit and spoke. "Bennie, ya don't have to feel bad because you're turning fairy to me."

"What the hell is this about? How can I _not_ feel disgusted at myself for liking a man!" I sighed and tapped his fine, though at that moment, scrunched up nose, with my finger.

"You're not the only one with secrets, Mister Bennett," I confessed, using my true voice. At the change in pitch, Bennett's blue orbs only enlarged dramatically. His lips parted from a frown to a mute, open jaw. "I'm a_girl_, Bennie," I said simply, putting emphasis on 'girl' with the smallest hope of Bennett not asking me to repeat it.

The lad was beyond confusion and had moved into a state of critical disorientation, perhaps even questioning his own existence after listening to the absurdity of my claim. I wondered if he was even breathing for the full five or ten minutes he just lay there looking at me, for although I sat on his stomach, I could not feel his chest rise and fall. He barely even blinked either. I knew I had given him the shock of his life, and I was scared of how he would react to it. And I was _never_ afraid of Bennett.

He finally did return to breathing and blinking, and he blinked rapidly and shook his head as he tried to sit up, his numb face now wrenched in accepted disbelief. "W-What!" he yelled, nearly blowing me off his belly. I leaned back with the unanticipated fury that spurted from his mouth. "What do you mean you're a _girl_?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes at me in a callous glower.

Trying my best to ignore his evident hatred for the fact, I looked straight into his cold, intense blue eyes and gathered my strength. "Would you have rather had me say that I was a _boy_, Bennett? Hmm?"

"N-No!" he screamed, his face glowing crimson in minimal disgust. "I…I… belie—Wait! You kept this away from me this whole time?" I understood his question in the sense that he was curious, although my assumption would prove to be entirely incorrect. But being the stupid girl I was, I nodded. Yet Bennett surprised me once more and abruptly slid away beneath me, nearly pushing me off him, and stalked off into the pale, fresh night grumbling to himself.

I remained on the ground, scowling silently at his turned back. I was positive that he would be relieved to know that he wasn't fairy at all and that his affections were towards a girl: me. But obviously, young Mister Bennett had no intention of thanking me for assuring him that he was far from a sodomite. And so while he trod off murmuring his curses, I sat on the dusty ground, not used to the feeling of rejection. _Fine,_ I thought._Be that way, you insensitive bugger._


	21. Oasis

_Chapter 21: Oasis_

**B**efore the sun rose I was up again, and I scampered out of my tent with my sea bag slung over my shoulder. My reasoning to leave the encampment early, before any man found me, was to get to my private oasis and have my well-needed bath out of the way before the men found it, for I knew a party of them was bound to search for a closer source of water in the cooler morning heat.

Though, I wasn't much of a fool as I left the camp. I had become well aware of the prints I was leaving in the desert sand, and to counter the automatic trail I was creating, I tied my long overcoat at my waist and had it drag behind me, smoothing out my indentations with the gentle sweeping movement of my coat tail.

The sky was a pale blue as I traveled to my watering hole, its smooth surface once again clean of any cloud. However, the absence of the white puffs would only allow the sun's rays to hit my fragile skin in a more direct and blazing light. Hopefully I would safely be in the cool shadows of my little oasis before the sun dared to wake and rise, secluded in the lush greenery and granted the privacy I was long too bereft of.

I wasted no time as soon as I surrounded myself with the verdure of the convenient spring. I set immediately to work and discarded all of my clothes and plunged into the cool water. I took in a mouthful of the sweet, refreshing morning air that was faintly dampened by the dew gathered on the contiguous vegetation. Expelling a deep sigh of untroubled gratification, I tossed my head back and dipped below the surface of the water.

To clean my foul and putrid self, I had _borrowed_, a bar of soap from Roland's sea chest long before we set foot on land. The boy rarely bathed at sea anyway, so I did not _steal_ his soap. I had every intention of bringing it back. Even at home, Mum or his maid would beg him to bathe, and he'd always hold onto his dirt for as long as possible. The boy would not miss his soap. And so, with Roland's pungent-smelling cleansing device, I commenced to scrub myself until my skin was red and raw.

After I was washed and scoured to a spotless clean, I found it necessary to bathe my clothes as well. For all the long months they spent with me on the perilous sea, they had become just as sordid as I was. I decided it was best if I stayed in the water while washing my garments and be prepared for the worst. And the worst that could happen would be one of the officers or sailors of the _Resolve_ finding me. At least in the water, nothing they wanted to see would be revealed.

Through much rubbing, rinsing, wringing, soaking and grumbling, I had finally sponged and bathed all pieces of my apparel, from trousers, to stockings, to shirts and neckerchief. I set them all out to dry on a bed of leaves I had prepared in the sun to keep any sand from attaching to any of them.

I grabbed one of my pair of trousers and slipped them on. They were pantaloons, and so fell only below my knees, and I also thought it wise if I just didn't wear the stiff cloth that squashed my chest. There was no need for me to hide anything…yet, so I got rid of the cloth and set it amongst my other clothes and buttoned on the smaller vest I had. That left me with bare arms and bare legs from the knee down, and a much easier time breathing.

"At least I'll remain cool," I said aloud, sitting on the sand bank beside the pure water and splashing the top with my feet. "Now, what to do while my clothes are drying?" I stayed my feet from kicking any further and got up, letting my eyes wander in the search of anything interesting to amuse me.

"J-Jack?" said a voice. I jumped and spun around, highly unprepared for the interruption, and I did what any other unprepared person, or perhaps, unprepared _woman_, would have done. I screamed, tripped over my feet in the stupid attempt to run away from my intruder and toppled into the water, sending a stream of it right over my drying clothes, thus soaking them again.

_Dammit._

As soon as my feet were on dry land though, I finally caught the astonished face of my intruder and exchanged looks with him.

"_Bennett_?" I shrieked, widening my poor eyeballs. "Great God! Is anyone else with you?" I demanded, fearing for my safety at the current moment.

"N-No. I… I came alone," he reassured. Releasing a breath, I relaxed my stiff shoulders and unknowingly placed my hands on my hips, which had become a rather frequent habit of mine. Walking forward from the thicker foliage adjacent to the tame water, I confronted my handsome trespasser, happy that we were alone again but still minutely aggravated by his rude and rash behavior from the night before.

"So, Mister Bennett," I said, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at his strangely pleasing awkwardness. "What brings you by?" I slowly took another step forward and was now standing in front of him, never more ready to make him feel embarrassment and discomfiture to its limits.

He took one look at me and swiftly averted his eyes elsewhere, contently scanning the ground or seeming to take interest in his hands or shirt. "I… I…"

"…you?"

"I… well… the captain ordered a search party for water and put me in charge of it. And, well, a while back I ordered for us to go in separate directions to cover more territory and—"

"Mister Bennett," I interrupted, placing a hand on his tense shoulder. "I think I understand." He tried another glance at me and managed to uneasily keep his eyes on mine, his face lightly puckered in a grimace.

"Y-You weren't kidding when you said you were a… a girl," he said, sending it out almost as a breath he had long held onto.

"Nope. I may lie, Bennie, but I don't lie 'bout things like that." I added a chuckle afterwards, hoping he'd loosen up a bit, but he refused to look at me again and turned around, shaking my hand off of his shoulder. He crossed his arms as he spoke to me, leaving me to listen to his back.

"I…" I heard him swallow. "I apologize for… for my abrupt and rather disapproving reaction to your confession last night." Following the admission of guilt, he exhaled a larger breath than before and its intense signal of relief had me hear it as another way of saying, "There. I've said it."

A smile thinly graced my lips as I laughed inside at his flustered self. I only added to the touchy conversation by remaining silent, waiting for him to turn his head around and ask me why I wasn't responding. At last, he fulfilled my expectations, and as soon as we locked glances, he whisked his head promptly about and commenced scratching his short brown hair in all the more growing humiliation. By that action, I believed that he would not be saying anything anytime soon, and so it was up to me to put things right.

"Bennie," I began, reaching for his shoulder. "Why won't you look at me?" As soon as I touched him again, he flinched and spun around, his face not uncomfortable but now vexed.

"B-Because I can't!" he yelled.

"And why not?" I challenged. What was possibly wrong with me that he couldn't bear to look at me? "Why not, Bennie?"

"Because you're not decent!" he exclaimed. _Oh_, I thought. _So that is what this is about._

"Oh, but it's not like you're _lookin'_ at anythin', Bennie. Yes, my arms are bare and you can see my lower legs, but it's not like yer gazin' at me stark naked!" I almost wanted to laugh at his uneasiness around me. "It's all right with me, Bennie," I assured him. "Besides, it beats being stuck sweating to death in a full array of clothing."

"But you're a woman!" he cried. "I'm not supposed to see any of that until… until I'm _married_!"

"Well, aren't you a lucky one then, aye?" I teased with a wink, but he only muttered something and sat on the sandy ground in a spot where the sun beat down freely. "Oh, c'mon, Bennie. I assure you, it is fine with me." For indeed, it _was_ fine with me.

I rested my bum beside him, sitting with my knees arched up and my back leaning on the trunk of a palm tree. He didn't say anything, but I wasn't troubled too much. After all, the poor lad had said and seen much already and almost always to his discomfort.

But as the heat continued to rise and the sun was severely baking my skin into a more swarthy hue, my line of patience was broken, and I refused to tolerate Mister Gareth Bennett's tight-lipped mouth any longer. I shifted my gaze in his direction, glared at his head and then leaned forward, shooting angry breaths through my nose. "All right, Bennie," I started. "Enough of your silence." Before he could stop me, I grabbed his chin and forced him to look at me. "Speak," I commanded.

He looked at me, dumbfounded, with wide, stunned blue eyes that sparkled in the sunlight. His jaw had dropped, but not a word came out of his mouth. I only succeeded in maintaining his muteness. _Dammit!_

But then it occurred to me that his face was red, and I immediately took it that it was burned from the unsympathetic rays of the sun. Without even asking for his permission, I cupped my hands in the water and flung the liquid at his face.

"Jack!" he sputtered, spitting out any that may have entered his mouth and wiping the wetness from his eyes. The redness still hadn't dispersed.

"Your face is still red," I observed, ready to pour more water on him but he stopped me with a few desperate shouts.

"No! … I mean, I'm fine, Jack. It's not sunburn. I'm… I'm just a bit… embarrassed."

"Oh," I said dumbly, smiling sheepishly at him. "Sorry." But to my greatest joy and surprise, he forced a smile as well, and he looked quite handsome with his wet, dripping head. And gaining confidence at his more relaxed person, I asked, as innocently as possible, "Will you talk to me now?" Perhaps a little charm wouldn't hurt, although I still doubted that I was even at all the least bit charming.

He faced me, unsure of what to say or do, and so I added, "I'm still the same Jack, Bennie. Even if I am a girl." His smile gradually returned and after letting out one last heavy sigh, he finally spoke to me.

"You never cease to amaze me, Jack," he said, quietly praising me. "Excuse me if I do not respond to your questions as quickly as you'd like. I'm still recovering from shock. You must be the only person in my life who has baffled me, argued with me, and yet rendered me speechless in everything we have done." I knew he was complimenting me now and I beamed at his well-delivered encomium of me. I even found myself blushing._Ah, to be a girl again._ "What moved you to disguise yourself and enlist in the Navy?" he asked.

"Well," I began, feeling my cheeks cool down. "It's a long story, love. For starters, my name ain't Jack Barlow, as you've probably guessed. Me birth name is Astrid. Astrid Jacqueline Turner Sparrow."

"Turner?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows at the name. "Are you related to Roland?"

"Not by blood, but by law," I answered. "I'm his adopted sister. You may remember my name from some of the stories he's told."

"Astrid," I heard him mumble, and then suddenly, his eyes lit up and he scooted closer to me, eager to get his discovery out. "You're the girl he spoke of who got drunk at her birthday celebration and spooned with Griffith!" he cried, astounded but smiling nonetheless at the fact.

"I'm not particularly proud of _that_," I muttered, ashamed of the incident. "I don't remember spooning with Griffith… honestly. But I am sure _he_ does." Mentioning Griffith reminded me that he had some unknown plan up his sleeve and some sort of alliance with Lonan, but I decided not to worry about it. Bennett was the young man with me now, and to him I would give all of my attention.

"No wonder he thought you looked familiar," said Bennett, smiling at the sky. "Everything is making sense now." He paused and directed his vision to me again, his eyes losing their joy and falling to a more serious stare. "Then… why did you join the Navy? You'll get hanged, Jack, if—"

"Yes, I know. That is why I am trusting you, Dobbin and Roland to keep my secret. And to answer your other question, I came to sea to search for my blood father."

"Any connection with the Sparrow in your name?" he questioned. I nodded. "Who is your father? What profession is he? Perhaps I've met him. I've been all over the world." I opened my mouth ready to scream, 'He's a good ol' swashbuckling pirate!' But I knew Bennett would not approve, and I didn't want to disappoint him again. I would tell him eventually who my father really was, but at that moment it was not opportune.

"He's… he's a merchant… from London. Yes, a merchant. But one time he left and never came back, but people still say he's alive."

"Well… I'm… I'm sorry," he said sympathetically, reaching out to pat my shoulder. I saw him hesitate, but he went along anyway and I was quite pleased. "That's why you asked to see London when we docked."

"Y-Yes," I stuttered, deciding to agree with his assumption, even though I really just wanted to go to London to see what it was like up there. "But don't feel bad for me, Bennie. I'll find him someday. He can't hide from me forever."

"You're not an orphan then," he said, nodding to himself as he pieced everything together. "You deceived Newton as well."

"Aye. Very. I grew up with Roland, so I wore those fine puffy dresses and learned to sing and dance and sew. And I got caught in many messes with suitors and admirers—men, in general. But I have none of that now. I left it all behind for the sea. I was courting a fine lieutenant, but I realized he didn't deserve a rogue like me. Fine men deserve to be with fine ladies. He is truly a fine man, but I am by far no fine lady."

I discovered that I must have been the worst partner any young man could have. And Adam was the unlucky first love. I hurt him and cheated on him (though I never intended to). And even more so, after that time with Bennett in the sails, I threw away the letter I wrote to Adam. I did love him still, but strangely, I cared deeply about Bennett also. And even more troubling, was that I had a heart for the sea, but apparently a few men had their hearts for me.

"You… You are quite a master of disguise then, Jack… I mean, Astrid. It is Astrid, isn't it?" He made me laugh all the more, bubbling out laughs of pure joy that I had not felt in some while.

"Eh, you can call me by whatever you're used to. Jack suits me fine." He smiled timidly, only to turn his head away from me, and he cast his feet in the water and pointed at the ripples he made.

"You found this oasis?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," I answered proudly, plunging my feet in as well and kicking some water at him, but then I remembered the last time I was in a secluded area with a man. The all too haunting, and ever so slightly pleasant memory with Stephen in the lagoon came up to mind.

"The last time I was with a man in a small, isolated body of water, I danced with him… but that ultimately ended in disaster and I broke another man's heart. My fifteenth year has got to have been the most eventful. Full of the good and bad," I remarked.

"You lied about your age as well," he said, not seeming too pleased.

"Would a fitting ship's boy honestly be fifteen years old, Bennett? I think not," I retorted.

"How long ago was that?" he asked, approaching me suddenly, his arms outstretched before him. I looked at his open and welcoming hands uncertainly, my memory at the lagoon proving too strong. What if someone saw us?

"Almost two years ago," I said. "In Port Royal." He must have noticed how my hands still hung at my sides and were not in his own, so he came forward and gently took my hands in his, causing me to titter nervously. Now, _I _was the uneasy one. "Bennett, what are you doing?" I asked, as he led me deeper into the water.

"I…want to dance with you," he said earnestly, his voice making only one pause instead of being a mess of stutters.

"Why on earth would you want to do that?" I asked, feeling as if it was _de ja vous_ all over again with Stephen. But Bennett was far from being like Stephen. Nor was he like Adam in every way. He didn't worry as much.

"To be honest," he started, "I've wanted to be alone with you for quite some while, Jack. I've liked you longer than you think. And I was in denial with myself for the most part, until that time I spent with you in the sails."

"Well…" I replied, choking on my own words because of his very bold confession. "You are the single man who has ever proclaimed his feelings openly to me in words. I am quite impressed. But why dance?"

"You danced with Marie," he said rather bitterly, and I could not control my laughter. "When you agreed to dance with her I grew angry and jealous not because _you_ were dancing with _her_, but that _she_ was dancing with_you_." I covered my mouth with my hand as I quieted my snickers.

"You told not a soul about this?"

"Not one," he affirmed, smiling.

I denied his wishes no longer and got into a dancing position with him in the water. He placed his hand on the small of my back and I rested my right hand on his shoulder while our free hands met, held together at shoulder level. In unison, we swayed about in the water, and we must have been a strange sight to any other eye, for I was dressed in my vest and trousers and he in his shirt and britches. If anyone but Roland and Dobbin saw us, we would surely be condemned of buggery and hanged, but thankfully, we were alone and there was no evil Alexandra Westley to frame me.

We exchanged pleased and genuinely happy glances with each other often as we danced and there was the occasional bit of conversation. Usually more about my life as a girl. But in the times when words were dead and silence endured, I'd catch him looking at my mouth sometimes and I, sadly, was ashamed of doing the same thing to him. Of course, it was involuntary for me, as usually was anything I did with a man that I admired. I even began to develop that drowsy feeling about me again, being so close to him as we skidded through the water, but the memory at the lagoon continued to blink in my mind and I knew when enough was enough.

Tapping his shoulder gently, I said, "We really should stop, Bennie." And we gradually came to a halt in the shallow end of the lagoon. However, Bennett still had not removed his hand from my back, nor did he part his hand from mine. _Dear boy, you grow too attached to everything you lay your hands on._

"Do you…" he began, and for a few seconds he pondered in silence whether he should continue or not. I waited patiently for him to speak again, my feelings mixed again. I was glad that he finally knew who I was, and even more so that he liked me, for I admired him in return. But I was worried for some reason that I had not laid my finger on yet.

"Do you remember that song I sang in Portsmouth?" he asked at last, looking down at me with shimmering eyes.

"The Scottish tune you played on Ian's pianoforte?" I replied, although as soon as I said it, I giggled nervously, having felt Bennett's hand on my back push me closer to him.

"Yes, that one," he said, taking my hand in his free one and bringing the back of it close to his lips, but he didn't kiss it, although I expected him to. It appeared as if he was toying more with my affections, and as much as I wanted him to just come out with what he wanted to say and to do whatever he wanted to do, I admitted to enjoying his teases.

" 'My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose,' correct?"

"Aye…" He nodded with a smile and looked away from my face to kiss the back of my hand, thus instigating more embarrassed chuckles from me.

"To be honest," he stated, locking stares with me again while still clinging to my hand, "the only reason I agreed to sing it was because I found it an inhibited way in which I could… well… attempt to woo you, which you must find queer since I still saw you as a man." My snickers had grown into fully-fledged laughs of pure delight and through my laughter, I managed to wheeze out, "You sang that song for me?" And he nodded with just a bit of pride.

"Well… you waited an awful long time before you informed me of your true affections," I returned, eyeing him with mock despair.

"As did you in telling me you were a damned _girl_," he muttered with a short laugh. Frowning, I tapped the side of his smooth face, indicating my desire to slap him for rebutting like that but loving him too much to do so.

"I had my reasons…" I paused and added, "as did you." We each released a cheap laugh at that, and it eventually died into dreaded silence; silence which Bennett took into consideration as the hand he had on my back slide south to my waist and the other holding my hand let go to rest on my bare arm.

His shift in movement thus called for me to move as well, finding a more comforting position with one arm half-hugging him and the other sitting on his shoulder. And it should not be an unknown fact that placing my limbs in such positions only brought me closer to him. Some rays of the sun had leaked in through the foliage of the oasis and hit our faces, making us even warmer than we were previously and that drowsy feeling began to envelope me again. Only this time, I almost did not want it to go away.

Bennett lowered his head as my eyes began to close, and soon I had blocked all vision, relying solely on the sense of touch to understand what was occurring, and all I felt at that moment was the warmth of the sun on my face; a warmth that was suddenly disrupted with Bennett's feverish lips as his mouth met mine in a timid recognition. And when the heat from him had vanished, I opened my eyes to meet his own, taking note of that enchanting white flicker in his eyes as he kissed me again.

Though, he didn't have to tilt his head as much as he did before, I met him halfway, holding onto him more tightly as his kiss left me entirely breathless and he didn't hesitate to do it again. He lifted me up so that he would not be required to bend his neck in order to reach my mouth and I was stupidly absorbed in it all to have leaned all the harder on him. And so without a doubt we toppled over into the water, and got ourselves soaked from head to toe.

The water did indeed give us that signal that we were getting quite at it and needed to consider a few things before we continued, and Bennett looked at me, water dripping from his head and smiling in spite of it. "I guess I should get my clothes washed then, eh?" he said, and I tittered at his sorry, but adorable attempt to banish the awkwardness between us.

"Aye, Bennie," I replied, getting up in the water and lending him a hand. And with a mischievous smirk I added, "I'd be happy to wash them for you."

He nodded with no suspicion or reluctance whatsoever and his fingers grabbed the ends of his shirt and were about to pull it over his head when he realized what he was about to do.

Stopping himself, he sent me a look, and I responded with my pert and not-so innocent grin.

When he did not speak in return, I placed my hands on my hips and raised my wet eyebrows at him. "Washed or not, Benito?" I demanded, seemingly impatient, but in truth, I just wanted to toy with him some more. He looked at me, then down at his dripping self and then back at me.

"Oh, what the hell," he surrendered, taking off his shirt and handing it to me. My grin widened and I turned away to go wash his lovely shirt, but I should have known that Bennett would never let me get off such a naughty prank unscarred. And so while I was being a submissive, obedient young lady and scrubbing his soiled shirt, he came up from behind me and showered me with what felt like five pounds of sand.

And he didn't leave it at that either, the scoundrel. He had to conclude with, "Now, I don't know about me, but it seems as though you're in dire need of a bath, Miss Sparrow."

_Oh, Bennie. I thought you were a good boy too._

_But I'm not complaining…_


	22. A Plot Revealed

_Chapter 22: A Plot Revealed_

**I**n all the years I had lived, I had never felt happier in my life. I was at sea. I was on a ship with my best mates. I had my mind set on a destination, and I was madly in love with the most beautiful young man in the world.

And he was in love with me.

Bennett never told anyone about the oasis I found. I suggested he reconsider, for the men _were _in frightful need of a bath, but he strongly defended otherwise. And his reason was more selfish than sweet. He wanted to keep the knowledge of the watering hole between us only for reasons he did not elaborate on. I could already guess what he was thinking anyway.

But as soon as our crew was re-supplied and ready for sea once again, the freedom we had to be with each other was decreased to a number barely above zero. Astrid Sparrow had to be a boy again and Bennett had to go back to be his proper, midshipman self. We had escaped the burdens of ship life for a few days, but it had managed to remind us that life on a British man-of-war did not equal freedom. Though, living pirate did.

Once we set sail, I found it difficult to stay around my band of mates without gazing up at the clouds and losing myself with girlish daydreams. Sometimes they would even have to snap their fingers in front of my face in order for me to pay attention and it wasn't just the ship's boys who noticed. Roland and Dobbin would look at me queerly and when Doctor Cavanaugh was teaching all of us on the quarterdeck and all I wanted to do was send quick glances at Bennett, the poor doctor had trouble getting me to stay focused. I knew it was a stupid thing to do. But I couldn't help it. Bennett seemed to have an easy time ignoring his true relationship with me. I seriously needed to control myself better.

I did notice though, that the lieutenants were beginning to give me specific orders. Such as recording information discussed at meetings and sometimes sending me to take their spyglass and look in a certain direction and then tell them what I saw. The orders were not really chores like swabbing the decks or splicing a line or helping Mister Cooke cook. The things they had me do actually left me with some new knowledge.

But through it all, Bennett and I tried our best to stay as friends on board the ship. But the lad obviously could not do it, despite the fact that he seemed so calm around me. He summoned for me one time and I expected it to be just a normal order, which it partly was. He handed me a paper addressed to the captain, but before letting me leave, he quietly whispered that he wanted us to meet at the rope locker. I already knew why.

For being such a chivalrous and decent lad, the boy could get carried away at times. But I never let him do anything that would put a permanent mark on my virtue. And he never argued when I told him I had had enough. Besides, I knew what would happen if I let him do what he wished, and I was in no position (or age) to be doing such. Bennett and I remained a good boy and girl… mostly.

We always had to be wary of our interaction though. We could never be together too long, or someone would be bound to notice our disappearance. And we still had to do our duty together, despite how enticing it would be to be doing "other" duty and we still had to keep in touch with our mates, who were very well aware that something was up, but didn't know what. I was certain that Roland knew what was going on, and he would even joke around with Bennett sometimes about, well, _that_. And he seemed to give me a little more friendly reminders to watch what I was doing, and I always told him I was.

But frankly, I was putting myself in more danger than I had predicted.

"Sail ho!" cried a sailor. "Two points off starboard bow!" I stood beside Lieutenant Johnson, for he had called me to his assistance that morning when we were on watch. Bennett was always keeping an eye out for me whenever I had to be close to some of the men. But Lieutenant Johnson was a civilized and respectable man, and nor was he a barking tyrant like Lieutenant Thorne.

"Barlow," he said, pulling out his spyglass and handing it to me. "Report what you see back to me." He nodded and I gave a salute before making my way from the quarterdeck to the bow of the ship.

"Where?" I asked the sailor who sat aloft in the foremast's rigging.

"Two points off starboard bow, sir. P'raps less than two miles." I nodded with a furrowed brow. The man had just called me 'sir.' But I shrugged it off and remembered my duty and put my eye close to the lens of the spyglass and slowly moved it left to right in the direction the sailor pointed.

And… there! A ship, two, maybe three decks. Definitely a ship-of-the-line with possibly seventy guns, which was more than the ones of the _Resolve._ The flag I couldn't see, but by design, I assumed a Spanish ship, which would mean an enemy ship. But wait…

The hull was gray. And the sails were… black? … No, they had some paleness to them.

Yet…

I turned around and came back to Lieutenant Thorne and told him what I saw with as much detail as I could recall. He pressed his lips together and called Roland to inform the captain. "What is your decision, sir?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. I wasn't even sure if what I saw was the _Black Pearl_.

"Good work, Barlow," he said, not addressing my question fully. "We shall beat to quarters. To your stations. Quickly." All I could do was nod and leave to get to my post at Lonan's gun.

I had asked Bennett to tell the captain that Griffith had changed his orders, for I was assigned to Doctor Cavanaugh during battle. But the captain approved Griffith's change of order and so I was stuck serving Lonny.

As I headed below, a hand grabbed my arm, and I was about to slam my fist into whoever did it when I saw that it was Bennett who had stopped me. "Take care, Jack," he said, and I smiled and gave his hand a firm squeeze.

"You too, sir." And we went our separate ways.

I had gone down into the magazine and retrieved the gun cartridges and powder before any other ship's boy and Lonan was ready to pull the cord on his cannon, but we were never given the signal to fire. The ship didn't even come abrest of our ship.

The men began to murmur as to what was going on when Lieutenant Thorne stormed down and ordered all the midshipmen manning their gun crews to get above deck where the captain was waiting for us. And by Thorne's shouts, I knew something was wrong. "You!" he bellowed, pointing a finger at me. I gulped. After all, I was the one who had seen the ship and informed Johnson about it. _Dammit, Astrid._ "With me." He seized my arm and dragged me up the stairs to the main deck where all the officers were waiting for me. _Oh dear God, help me._

"Barlow," said the captain grimly. "Here." He pointed at a spot in front of his feet and Thorne pushed me forward. I did as I was told.

"Y-Yes, sir?" I said, keeping my head low.

"Tell me _exactly_ what you spotted through Lieutenant Johnson's spyglass," he ordered.

"I saw a three-masted ship, sir. At least two decks. Perhaps up to seventy guns. The hull was black, seemingly built in the style of the Spanish. The sails were harder to collect, sir. It seemed to be black in some spots, pale in others. I wasn't sure. I'm sorry if I was mistaken, sir. I just did as I was told and—"

"I did not ask for your apology, Barlow," he said. "But your words did depict the ship spotted; only now the ship has suddenly vanished." _Vanished?_ I looked up and saw that his face was less harsh and the corners of his mouth even seemed to be forming into a smile. "Some of the men doubted Johnson's word, but you have supported him justly." He nodded and that was my signal to leave and I was happy to. I thought I was going to get flogged.

Bennett and I were on the Middle Watch, in our usual spot at the mizzen top. He sat beside me, holding my hand, and my head rested on his shoulder as we watched in silence for anything out in the calm black sea. We were very safe up there, being covered by the mizzen topsail and being in the dark; most men would rather be sleeping than spying on anyone. So we were ensured a short time together.

"Jack," he whispered, letting go of my hand and wrapping an arm around me. "Are you awake?" I barely was, but I answered yes, and I felt him press his lips into my hair.

"What's on yer mind, Bennie?" I asked, for I knew he had something to say just by his tone of voice. I knew the lad too well.

"Jack," he began, moving aside a bit so that I sat upright and faced him. "I've… I've been meaning to tell you something." It was hard for the words to come out of his mouth and he couldn't even hold his stare on me when he said it.

"What is it, Bennett?" He shook his head and didn't continue with his original thought. He said he'd tell me later that day. He promised he would.

I would have demanded to know, being a rather fussy bonnie lass, but he knew me as well as I knew him and brought my hand up to his lips, kissing it gently, which calmed me back into silence.

"All right," I said. "This afternoon. That will be the only time I'll be listening, so make it count." I brushed my lips against his cheek and then one more time on his mouth before four bells were rung, signaling the end of our watch.

When I got down to my hammock for some sleep and settled in with John lying opposite me, I immediately drifted off into a wild mess of dreams. It wasn't a dream that flowed well like all the ones I had had of Jack. No. These dreams were disorganized and random, spinning my mind off in so many directions. Sound was even muffled and I couldn't figure out what anybody was saying. But there were many voices for sure—all male—speaking.

I found myself at a beach, but the water was red and the sky was black and the sand was grey like ashes. And in the dimly flickering horizon, I saw the silhouette of a man, standing with his back facing me. Was it Jack? It could have been, but the blazing sun on the fading horizon seemed like a dying candle, and it was losing light fast and the silhouette of the man began to become one with the black sky. "Jack!" My voice waved through the air like an echo, clinging to its sound until he vanished before I could reach him. And instead of lunging forward and falling back onto the sand, I lunged forward and felt something fall over my head and neck and catch me.

I was hanging.

And I seemed to be hanging from what seemed to be nothing. Just a rope tightening around my neck and choking me in the dark. The voices came again. And my screams joined them. I screamed out names of people I could scarcely remember. _Mum, Dad, Adam…_ I shouted for _Bennett, Dobbin, Andre…_ _Roland…_

Then suddenly the rope gave way and I fell, feeling my feet suddenly heavy with a new weight. And now I couldn't move my arms. My screams were stopped with an invisible gag and no matter how wide I opened my mouth, nothing came out. Nothing. And I fell into a pool, feeling myself sink. And no one was there to save me.

The water seemed to rush up my nose and any other opening as I was surrounded with pressure and I thought I was crying. Was I crying? I didn't know. And when I thought all was lost, there was one voice that penetrated through the rest, calling, "Jack!"

I woke with a gasp and a swinging arm that was caught by the one who woke me.

"John," I breathed, feeling sweat pour from my brow. "What?"

"We're changin' watches, mate. Best get up. And ye might wanna get some grog in ye too. Yer shaking." He left to probably get his breakfast and I smothered my face with my hands, wiping off the sweat and taking in deep breaths.

But I got up and did my duty.

I ran into another mess with Lonan that day. During the drills, I was so shaky that I dropped the cartridges and delivered the powder messily, spilling some on him, and Griffith was the commander of the division and therefore marched up to me during the drill and gave Lonan the right to gave me switched. My whole body froze with horror as Lonan jerked my arm and pulled me to gun number six to have my trousers pulled down and my ass whipped. I saw Griffith looking pleased at what was about to happen and he even looked eager to finally see me whipped and discovered. The bastard even licked his lips.

Lonan gave a nod at Griffith who simply said for him to carry on and Lonan pushed me to the gun and made be bend over it. "Won't this jus' be a fine bottom to flog, lads?" he taunted, and I felt his hand on my waist reaching to unbutton the trousers when he was stopped by an order.

"Cancel it," said Griffith. "I think he's learned his lesson. His eyes show nothing but fear." Griffith came forward and Lonan moved aside to let him pass as I pushed my stomach off the barrel of the gun. "I assure you, he won't do it again," he said, looking at me. He took another step closer and pushed my chest. "Isn't that right, Jack?"

"Y-Yes, sir," I stammered before rushing passed him and his sorry lot of mates. More sweat collected at the edges of my forehead and my head was swimming. I was safe for a while but now I was stuck in the water and the sharks circling me had finally developed an appetite.

During our leisure time, I met Bennett in the midshipmen's berth and he led me to the second gun deck where he sat opposite me at a table between two guns. He didn't seem too happy either and I was about to tell him about my run-in with Lonan and Griffith when he reminded me of the words he promised to tell me.

"Jack," he said, resting the side of his head on a propped up fist. He wouldn't look at me. "There's something I think you—no, I _know_ you should be aware of what I am about to tell you. And I've put it off for far too long now." I had not a clue as to what he was talking about.

"The thing is, Jack… I… I don't normally interact with ship's boys on voyages. From the first time I was on a ship, I never in my whole time in the Navy spoke to a ship's boy except to assign him an order. Call me a nob if you will, but it was not something I found necessary. They were below me, and so I treated them as such."

"What are you trying to say, Mister Bennett?" I asked, wondering why on earth he would be telling me this. He pressed his lips together, trying to find the right words but failing. "Bennett," I began but he was still left mute.

"I'm sorry, Jack…," he said at last. "I…"

"My, what's this, Bennett?" laughed an intruder. The unwelcome guest came from the side and placed a hand on the edge of the table, leaning on it as he faced me. "You finally are telling Jackaroe here our little secret?" _Secret?_ I thought. _What the hell is going on! _I was about to rise and push him off but he sat down beside Bennett giving his clearly depressed friend a hard nudge.

"Griffith, don't—" started Bennett but Griffith looked at me with greed in his eye and his mouth half smirking.

"Shut up, Bennett," he barked. "I'll tell Jacky here what's truly been going on and it'll save you the trouble of stuttering the simple words yourself."

"Bennett, what is this bastard talking about?" I asked, turning to Bennett and reaching out for his hand, but Griffith caught it and examined my fingers. I couldn't pull away.

"So it's true what you've been telling me, Gareth," said Griffith, still looking at me with his burning blue eyes. "Young Jacky here is not what he seems, now is he?" _What! _I rose from my seat, looking at both of them with widening, worried and hurt eyes.

"Oh yes, Jackaroe," mocked Griffith. "Bennett here has been telling me everything about you from the beginning. I had him get to know you better so that he could regurgitate the information back to me."

_Oh, Bennett, no, no, no, no!_

"And Lonan was another of my spies because I knew there were some things Bennett wouldn't be willing to do to you. Such as, say, _touch_ you where you don't want to be touched." His eyes glanced downwards and then back up. "And Lonny filled the gap quite well." My eyes were welling as I looked from Griffith's sinister countenance to Bennett's lowered head and clenched fist.

"I know everything about you, Jack. _Everything_. The lies. The truth. I told you I had my spies everywhere and that I'd figure you out one day, Jack. And you can be certain that I am well informed of the person behind the manly name."

He rose and leaned forward so that he and I were nose to nose, me wanting nothing but to kill him and him probably wanting something else that I refused to think of. "_All… because… of… dear… Bennett_," he breathed onto my face.

My heart sank in my chest and I cowered away from Griffith and ran away from them both, shielding my face with my arm as I ran to any place of refuge. I bit my lip to keep myself from sobbing, but the tears were already well down my face, dripping from my eyes in invisible misery.

Bennett didn't follow. I didn't even hear him call me back in the slight possibility that I would forgive him but he stayed behind with his wicked, sick-minded master. Without a word of support or friendship coming from his mouth. Not one.

_I loved you, Bennett, you stupid, lying, two-faced bastard! I told you so much and you sold it to that sad excuse for a man for nothing and with no shame. How could you! You betrayed me, you reeking piece of shit. Roland was right. Dobbin was right. They were all right about you. It doesn't come down to friendship and love when things get grim. No, by God, it doesn't. It comes down to your pride. Your stupid, unassailable pride. Damn you to the deepest pits of hell, Bennett! Damn you! To hell with your precious pride! That's all you really cared about… That was all you really loved…_

The empty shores of Egypt lied alongside our moving ship, braving the untamed waves of the blue sea with its own endless ocean of heat and choking sand. Wind was growing powerless and the casual breezes that would often sweep by were becoming a rarity. We were losing our wind while entering a territory crawling with Napoleon's ships and troops, and Captain Carlisle had switched sights from the _Pearl_ to evident battle.

Without a doubt, I knew Griffith was certain of who I really was, all because of Backstabbing Bennett. But surprisingly, despite the new bit of news he learned, he spoke not a word of it to anyone. He didn't reveal me for a woman in front of the entire crew. He did not report me to the captain. He even stayed out of my way.  
Lonan too.  
And so I was beginning to suspect that a different scheme was arising in Victor Griffith's evil little mind, but he did nothing to prove it. If he had something on his mind, he would have done it, and I remained so safe that I suspected I was in the worse danger one could ever put oneself in. And during drills he did not push me around or bark at me for being a bit slow. It was as if peace was finally made. But I doubted it.

Needless to say, as soon as Roland and Dobbin found out about my brawl with Bennett, the two did not hesitate to give the lad hell. Things in the midshipmen's berth were beginning to lose control. Fights were breaking out, which I knew were ignited by Dobbin or Roland in revenge for Bennett betraying me.

I was certain though, that I had just made things worse on the ship, for now the lads were actually fighting, and they were just petty fights for now—many of which were blamed on by alcohol, but it would only be a matter of time before the quarrels grew large enough to attract the attention of the captain and his officers.

And now I had possible mutiny to plague my thoughts. And it came ever so slowly to my attention that the fights, the curses, the trouble, the bad blood brewing on the ship, were the results of my being there. If I had never come on board, I would have never challenged Griffith. And Griffith would have never asked Bennett to spy for me. And Bennett and I would have never become friends. And Roland would have never gotten angry with me for siding with Bennett. And Bennett and I would have never fallen in love. And the lads would have never started fighting.

_Perhaps I should have deserted a long time ago_, I thought. But it was far too late to do anything about it. All I had to do was continue with everyday life and keep my mind focused on Jack.

For a time, I managed to complete all my orders with speed, agility and in most occasions, full obedience, but after a while, I began to feel tired. Even after simply climbing down from the main royal yard, my feet hit the deck with fatigue and I didn't know why I was getting so exhausted. And after the first time it happened, I thought it was because I just didn't get enough sleep.

But it happened often, and I could no longer deny that I was all right. Something was indeed wrong with me.

None of the other men were experiencing any sign of weakness. It was just me. So I assumed it must have been something that women only contracted but I had no sure way to find out since I was the only woman on board. _And I thought things were already bad enough._

I had figured to tell Cavanaugh about my ailments, but then if it _was_ some disease that only women could get, then I would be discovered and currently, the _Resolve_ was my only mean of staying on the sea. And I was in no mood to leave, but I had a bad feeling time was running out for me before Griffith finally spilled the truth of Jack Barlow really being Astrid Turner Sparrow.

"Dammit," I muttered, leaning my cheek in the palm of my hand. I shut the fifth medical book I had taken from Cavanaugh's collection in hopes of finding a name behind all my symptoms and obtaining a cure by myself, but I could find nothing that fit my condition.

I became tired easily. I'd have aches in my joints. My mouth was sore and it was difficult for me to chew the ship's hardtack anymore for fear of more of my teeth falling out, and I couldn't think straight. But there was no name for all those symptoms. Had I caught something entirely new?

"Barlow," said a voice. I raised my head from my hand and looked up to see Third Lieutenant Kempe at the doorway of Cavanaugh's office. I blinked away the dryness in my eyes as I faced him.

"Yes, sir," I said, still sitting in my seat, though any good sailor would have known to stand when an officer came in.

"Captain Carlisle wishes to see you. Quickly now, sir," he said. There it was again. The men were calling me 'sir' and I had no idea of why they would. Was I not just a stupid ship's boy?

I closed my book and proceeded to follow Kempe out and I watched as the sailors all saluted in his direction as he made way, with me behind him.

He brought me up from the orlop deck to the main gun deck, then up another deck and to the captain's quarters, which was guarded at the side by two, red-uniformed marines. "Lieutenant Kempe and Barlow entering, Captain," said one of them, and from behind the closed doors was the captain's reply of approval, and Kempe and I walked into the quarters.

As soon as I was in, the marines closed the doors behind me, and I found myself before Captain Carlisle, all three lieutenants, the sailing master, the Gunner and all the other officers, save for the midshipmen, in there as well. And they were all looking at me. _Great..._ _Had I done something wrong? Did Griffith finally tell them? Was I going to get hang—_

"Jack Barlow," said the captain. "Fifteen by now, correct?"

"Aye, sir," I said, remembering to put my knuckle to my brow.

"Surgeon's assistant and ship's boy." I nodded at the correct professions I bore.

He must have noticed that I was a bit worried with what was going on, which I was. I thought I was in trouble again, but he smiled and so did a few of the officers.

"Well-educated in maritime action and business…" He continued to expound the things I had done. "…saved the life Midshipman Turner. Loyal messenger in delivering news of enemy sightings and…" He paused and I waited for one final thing to come from his mouth, which I expected to be not the least bit honorable as opposed to the praise he had just shown of me.

"You will report to the clerk in the orlop deck where he shall take your measurements and fit you for a proper uniform." _What?_ "And then you shall return to deck as _Midshipman_ Barlow."

I stood with an open jaw staring at him for what seemed like ten minutes. He had appointed me midshipman. Midshipman. _Midshipman._ It was taking forever to get it through my head. No more ship's boy chores! No more sharing hammocks! No more dirty sailor gear! I'd be in a gleaming new uniform fitted just for me: Midshipman Jack Barlow! _God save captains! And Lieutenants! Oh, the whole Royal Navy if need be!_

"Th-Thank y-you, sir," I stuttered, hardly able to express my joy with words. I had finally risen to some place instead of continuing to be kept around the dirt. I had finally taken a step forward.

"Be quick now. Your assistance will be needed if battle ensues," said Carlisle. I would have given the man such a tight embrace for granting me such a privilege, for privilege it was indeed. I did not even think I was ready to be a mid, but bless Captain Carlisle for having hope in a lost, crazy little ship's boy.

But I controlled my feminine urges and gave him my best salute before rushing out of the doors. And as soon as I was out of the cabin, I leapt into the air and gave one hell of a cheerful shout.

_Midshipman at last!_

I had not a care in the world at that moment. Bennett was no more. Adam was far from my memory. No more romance for Midshipman Astrid Sparrow. None. Just a uniform, her duty, her mates, her dreams, Jack and nothing more.

_Now, lads, sailors, officers and everyone in between, _I thought. _You may now salute and call me, _Mister_ Jack Barlow._


	23. Ancient Ruins

_Chapter 23: Ancient Ruins_

**I** was given my orders as soon as I returned to Carlisle's cabin, which, to my relief, was not so full of officers. He stationed me at Division Eight on the first gun deck, and I was to be commanding it during drills and battle. The previous commanding officer was a fairly learned, but lazy, Midshipman Blevins, a young man of about twenty-two or so. But he would be taking my place as commanding officer if I had to attend to Doctor Cavanaugh, for Captain Carlisle still wanted me to assist in surgery, finding my knowledge vital on a ship.

That night I dined with the captain and his officers, eating my first exquisite meal since leaving Portsmouth about three months ago. It was delicious and the men were very merry, even Thorne, who I assumed was only merry because he was getting as much wine in him so as to not remember the night he had to dine with Jack Barlow, a rotten boy in his dark eyes.

Some of them spoke of their wives or sweethearts, and as drunk as they were, one had the nerve to ask if I had a lass back home and I replied that thankfully, I didn't. I discovered that Carlisle had a wife in London who was with child, and that Lieutenant Johnson was engaged. I found it all quite heartwarming to hear the men focus on their loved ones in the midst of raging sea battles and war. They said not a word that offended any of their women and spoke only of one, so I knew the men I sat with were loyal, laudable gentlemen. Unlike some men on board the ship.

There was a toast to me and three cheers, and after the drink was finally drunk to empty bottles, the captain dismissed us all, and I returned to my new quarters in the midshipmen's berth. Of course, I did not go there without paying a visit to my old hammock and a pleased John, who finally had it all to himself.

We shook hands in parting because we both knew he might be taking orders from me, so it was best to leave as the mates we were. Then I went off to sleep for four hours until I was called up for the Middle Watch. And thankfully for me, Griffith was on the First Watch and therefore could not enjoy his sure to be euphoric pleasure of having Jack Barlow as a midshipman and within an arm's reach.

When the time came in the morning for drills, I was given a quick lesson from Second Lieutenant Johnson about manning the guns. He directed my division the first time, pointing out the order in which the guns should be fired when under attack.

Including me, the commanding officer, my division consisted of seven men. There was of course, the ship's boy acting as powder monkey, who was in charge of carrying the explosive gun cartridges up from the magazine to the guns. There was one sailor to pass the ammunition, then next was the swabber, who dampened the freshly fired barrel to prevent sparks. One sailor loaded the gun, with another who turned and raised the barrel in a specific direction, and lastly was the gun captain who monitored his men and fired. I, too, was given authority to fire a gun if more than one needed to be ignited, but for the first few drills, I let the gun captain do his job.

It was also my duty to keep my men's morale up in times of battle, to give their courage support and to give patriotic words of victory and prize. That was something I could easily get done, though wouldn't the men be steaming if they knew they were taking orders from a woman.

Lieutenant Johnson had given me one drill to command to see how I faired, and it was time to see how well Midshipman Barlow could lead.

"Run 'em out, boys!" I yelled, raising my arm in the air. I'd swing it down to signal the moment to pull the cord, light the fuse and fire the cannon in a glass-shattering explosion.

The men pulled on the ropes to bring the gun back out the port hole after recoiling from previous shots and the gun captain bowed before gun number one, his hand ready to pull and his eyes aiming at the open sea. "Fire!" I screamed, and with one swift pull, the gun erupted with a 'boom' and bucked back, smoke streaming from its barrel.

"Reload!" I commanded, grabbing the gun powder horn and moving over to gun number one. I ordered the gun captain to aim and fire off gun three, and he went off to do so while the rest of the men filed to reload gun one. "Worm and sponge!" The barrel was cleaned of sparks and instantly the gun cartridge went in along with the cannonball. And while they did their job with much ease, I poured a bit of the gun powder into the quill by the fuse and locked it in place before laying my hand on the cord.

The lads were over before I was, and they had backed away from the gun as they were taught and waited for me to fire. I narrowed my eyes on an imaginary French ship in the distance and with a yank, sent a whistling cannonball into the blue sea.

"Well done, Barlow," said Johnson, stepping forth from his spot of observation behind me. "You might want to be quicker with the powder but you did fairly decent for your first time. You call the orders now." He bowed his head, and I thanked him for his assistance before turning back to my division who was awaiting my command.

"Cast loose the gun!" I yelled and the boys jumped to it with just the slightest bit of a grumble. _Oh, but you will, I repeat_, will_, learn to take orders from this puny middy, yes, you will. _And after a few more circles with the guns, the lads were beginning to get used to my control, and I began to see the strange sparkle of top authority in my eyes.

A few days passed. I improved in my skills as a midshipman, and my gun crew grew remarkably more welcoming of my authority as the days flew by. Some of them would even stay behind after drills for a while to chat with me and to discuss better maneuvers to fire more efficiently. However, even if my own gun crew was treating me with respect, the division under Griffith and Lonan's leadership continued to ridicule me.

And Griffith, with his natural superiority amongst the crew was hailed as the exemplar for all of us, and so whatever he did, the others were encouraged to do the same. And so, as soon as he began mocking me, other disagreeable crew members began to do likewise. But my division was not about to tolerate the jeers with mere ignorance. They fought back, often with curses and a few threats, and it appeared as if each time it occurred, the harsher the threats became. And although I appreciated my division's defense for me, I regarded it as a red-hot warning that a mutiny was bound to happen soon, and it wouldn't be particularly over power. In the simplest of terms, any revolt would have occurred because of me.

My gun crew and I had just finished another few hours of drills, not to mention a brief war of words with Griffith's disgraceful lot. Charley was the ship's boy assigned in my division and he looked up at me with a frown.

"I'm sicka those lads teasin' us, Jack," he grumbled. "I mean, Mista Barlow. Sorry, 'bout that, mate."

"Nay, Charley. I'll still be a ship's boy at heart. Ye go ahead and call me Jack if ye want. Just not in front o' the other officers."

"Aye. Awright then. But those coves are jus' bein' bloody arses, they are. They can't stop and be nice for once an' I'm sicka hearin' their stupid jokes. I jus' wanna beat the face of that pretty fairy Griffith." He clenched one of his hands and slapped it into the palm of his other flatly, and I couldn't help but chortle a bit.

"Aye, a fairy he be, Charley. Don'tcha jus' wanna sock his pretty face in?"

"Ye don't know how much I want to."

John was coming from his own division as the men began to separate and go off to their other duties, and he waved a sooty hand at Charley and me as he approached. As was common between ship's boys, Charley and John greeted each other with a few soft punches on the arms and perhaps a few mild taunts towards each other. And after saying hello to me, John went off to attend to his watch and Charley followed after, leaving me to be reminded of where my duty lied, which was with Doctor Cavanaugh.

For the remainder of the afternoon, I stayed in the company of the beloved ship's surgeon. He continued with teaching me more about operations, tools and the like. I was already quite adroit in the operating situation. I could hand Cavanaugh his tools swiftly and work nimbly with a patient in pain. It never occurred to me how many occupations on board the ship I had to balance. I had been a ship's boy and was still very much of one. I was recently assigned as an officer and was so being educated thoroughly about naval decorum, and I had been learning about the human body, nature, medicine and vital operating procedures since the beginning of my first voyage. All of that and I doubted any of the lessons would be helpful when I finally turned pirate with my good old Jack Sparrow.  
But in order to do so, I still needed to get (safely) off this damn ship.

That evening, as the majority of the midshipmen were gathering in our berth, we all sat down to our suppers at the very narrow table that had to fit all ten of us that were present. We were all quite squashed in, but thankfully I was wedged between my brother and Dobbin, so I had nothing to fear.

A steward brought in the food and some bottles of wine and rum. I didn't drink as I ate, knowing I had to be careful around so many men. I couldn't afford getting drunk. The other mids though, had a jolly time drinking and eating until they were red in the face and laughing at absolutely everything. Even Dobbin and Roland had taken a few drinks and were all enjoying the merry atmosphere rather well, and I soon desired to be accepted in their fun, and I seriously considered taking a few drinks myself.

"C'mon, Jackaroe," sputtered a chuckling Griffith. "Have a shot of rum, would you?" To make the alcohol all the more appealing, he popped the cork out of a new bottle and took the first long swig, and then afterwards he offered it to me, his wild eyes ordering me to say yes.

I remembered the taste of rum as I stared at the bottle. It was such a good drink. It was spicy and hot as it went down my throat, yet at the same time it left me cool and refreshed, not to mention entirely care-free. It was exactly what I needed to get my mind off of Bennett, and my hand trembled as it inched to the bottle. Only, I couldn't reach it because of my short arms. Griffith took note of this and got up and pushed Dobbin out of the way and sat beside me, grinning simply. "Easier to hold now, isn't it?" he said, taking my hand and forcing my fingers to wrap around the bottle. "Drink up, Jackaroe."

I heard Roland mutter something behind me, and Dobbin was still conscious enough to shake his head at me. But I'd only take a few sips. Just a few. I brought the bottle mouth to my lips and was about to take a gulp when the door to the midshipmen's berth swung open and in walked Bennett.

"Drinking are you?" he asked, almost as a laugh and the other lads all cheered in agreement as our Senior Midshipman made his way in. "You don't mind if I join in, right?" No one protested, and so while I was about to go on with my first untaken sip, Bennett swiped the rum bottle from my hands and chugged nearly half of it down before standing still for a few minutes, dazed and with tired watering eyes.

"I needed that," he said, burping afterwards. He then went off to his cabin, leaving me insulted, and the other lads entertained. And if it were not for his interruption, I would have taken my gulp of rum and condemned myself to the gallows. But perhaps I had been condemned from the beginning.

The following morning, I woke to the sound of an echoing bell. I calmly interpreted the sound as an indication that we were switching watches again, and so I got up from my hammock, yawned with a stretch of my arms and lazily donned my coat and shoes as I decided to see what the men were up to. I grabbed my hat from my sea chest, fitted it over my head and was about to take a step onto the ladder that led up to the main deck above me when the ship rocked violently to the side and the air boomed with a stunning explosion.

I was caught so off guard that I tumbled to the ground, and as I rose, still in a state of utter bewilderment, I heard the shout to Beat to Quarters, and I turned back to my sea chest and grabbed my sword. Some of the mids were still snoring through the blast and I was quick to shake them up or slap their faces real good in order to get them up and to their divisions. For Pete's sake, we were being attacked while caught completely unawares!

As the other lads hurriedly dressed and went up the ladder, through the hatch and up to the main deck, I did not follow. Instead of going up with them, I went down to the orlop deck, knowing my first position as surgeon's assistant.

"Who fired? What's happening?" I asked as I gathered his operating tools and retrieved countless bottles of liniment, sedative and anesthetic.

"The French through what I've heard. It's a foggy morning and not even the sailor with the best eyes could have seen the cannon fire coming," replied Cavanaugh. "But I assure you that Carlisle has had enough of this. He will take that ship or die trying."

"What do I do if we ram her bow?" I asked shakily, fearing the worst and the worst was what indeed came.

Cavanaugh, dear Cavanaugh, looked at me with an expressionless face that only ended up relenting to a smile. "Why, you gather your division and slaughter those French like no tomorrow." He grinned and I felt my throat tighten.

I had been in battle before, but I was always ensured some sort of safety. As a ship's boy, I wasn't one to go into battle head on. And my challenge to that French captain long ago was just a selfish act to flaunt my skill, which was odd because I had none whatsoever. Only now, as an officer, I was expected to be valiant. I was expected to die for my country. But back then when I had challenged the French captain, I wasn't afraid of dying because I thought the only way I'd die was through the gallows. And during that time I thought I'd never get discovered.

But secrets had leaked out. Conspiracies were being schemed into existence and my duty was to fight for men who would only kill me in the end. "Cavanaugh," I said, looking up at him. "I have a confession to make." For a moment, the doctor stared at me with wide eyes, brought to a complete halt at such a misplaced statement.

"Jack, I believe you should wait until after battle before you—"

"No, please. I need to tell you this if anything happens to me during battle. I'm not who I say I am."

My voice was pummeled into nothingness as the _Resolve_ returned fire to her enemy ship and the gun decks above us roared with consecutive detonations. It felt as if the world was bristling with rage and disappointment at us and all the lies and secrets I had told to protect my already sentenced self.

Yet, through the booms, Cavanaugh seemed to understand the words that never came out of my mouth, and he nodded. "You do your duty now, and we will discuss this later. Is the table prepared?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is the water ready?"

"It is."

"Is the sand nearby to supply friction?"

I nodded.

"Good. Now grab your sword and meet the men above. This battle will be won for Britannia."

My heart was pumping and my mind was overflowing with thoughts and orders and memories and predictions, but I kept my eyes focused directly ahead of me. Our enemy had fired at us again, and the starboard side of our hull had received a crippling lesion that sent jagged little knives of splinters flying in all directions—into arms, and legs and faces, and puncturing vulnerable human skin.

I hurried onwards past the second gun deck and to the first above it, where my division was awaiting my order. I knew some other midshipman was covering for me, but my gunmen had grown to accept me with more than just forced obedience. They looked to me as their leader, although I feared that I would fail them.

Rising from the smoke of gunfire, I stepped onto the first gun deck, scurrying past the different firing crews and looking for my division. "Charley!" I yelled, knowing my loyal ship's boy would be the first to respond at my arrival.

"Jack?" came a frail cry from where my men were supposed to be firing, but the boy's voice was overpowered with a growl.

"Get moving, Barlow!" it yelled. I saw Lieutenant Kempe shouting at me, and I saluted speedily at him as a form of my apology.

Through the smoke, I managed to find Charley and he was delivering a cartridge to one of the guns and I made my presence known. "Level the gun!" I commanded, pushing one of the men forward to the gun I was directing them to. "Peterson, Lovelace! Take out the tampion and prime!"

The gun was loaded and directed in the said position. "Guns two, four and six, fire under my command!" I bellowed, moving towards gun six and grabbing hold of the lanyard. From behind I heard Lieutenant Kempe shout, "Fire as she bears!" and my eyes were focusing on any glimpse of the gleaming bark of our French enemy.

And then we saw the enemy's fine hull gradually come into view.

The divisions to my left fired first, and mine followed. I heard nothing but the thunder of the guns and the injuries crashing upon the French ship, but my body had grown accustomed to the movement of battle. I paced along my division, yelling for guns one, three and five to fire while the ones just used were being reloaded.

Charley came stumbling back up, panting and covered with soot as he handed the gun captain another cartridge. "Ram home shot and wad!" I screamed, feeling the smoke burning my eyes. The men seemed to complete the orders blindly, but with saving speed and Kempe once again ordered for us to fire, only this time, we were to aim for the rigging and sails.

The demand proved insufficient, for the French had narrowly missed our shots and the majority of the gun crews failed in hitting a target, but I repeated the orders to reload and readjust, and the lieutenants on our gun deck began to get frustrated.

Lieutenant Thorne stormed up to Kempe in the ashen mist, his face scratched from piercing splinters. "Aim better, dammit!" he barked.

"Our enemy ship is faster than we are, Thorne. You can't expect—" Kempe's bitter defense was severed as our ship was mauled by a damned good hit from the French on our larboard side.

The wall exploded in a hurricane of perforating fragments of wood and two whole divisions were hit dead on, with the men collapsing to the ground like flies, their moans and screams lingering in the arid smoke. As the sound of the blast echoed away, Lieutenant Johnson's voice rose from the larboard gun crew which he commanded.

"Divisions three and four injured, Mister Thorne. Inform the captain if you please!" His last word was battered into oblivion as our clever French opponents fired _again_, sending grapeshots careening through the massive holes already present from their previous attacks and lodging the hot, round little masses into the limbs of fresh British subjects.

I shrank away from the larboard side of the ship and my division was caught as dumb as I was for they worked only under one's command, and I had not uttered one word. Divisions two and one were hit badly, along with the already injured divisions three and four, and Dobbin was part of that division.

My worries were prohibited and considered stupid, and before I could even ask about Dobbin, Kempe pushed my head to look at my division and to resume my duty as Thorne ran above decks to send word to our captain.

Charley reappeared from below decks and came up to me, bearing another ammunition cylinder in his tiny hands. "Half o' the divisions on the second gun deck are injured… badly, sir and men are filing down to the surgeon's cockpit like water."

"No talking, Charley," I snapped, grabbing the ammunition and passing it to the gun being loaded. "Back below. You keep your eyes on your duty, nothing else, understand?" The boy sniffled and ran off, and I was heartsick to see him go, so innocent and young yet covered on the outside with filth that would be hard to wash away.

I turned to Peterson and gave him the right to fire under Kempe's command, and I went to find our governing lieutenant. "Sir, half of the divisions below are sacked and—"

"Aye," he growled, pushing past me and sticking his head out of one of the portholes. When he brought his head back in swiftly he turned to me with a nod. "Starboard battery ready?" he questioned, yelling it to me.  
"Aye, sir!"

"Johnson! Muster your men! Ready larboard battery!"

"Aye!" returned Johnson. Kempe moved in what appeared to five giant steps to the ladder leading down to the deck and exchanged a few yells with some officer on the main deck above us.

"Captain's turning hard a' larboard!" he shouted. "Barlow, Griffith, Blevins, Turner!" he yelled. "Ready starboard battery, fire as she bears on the up roll!"

We roared a unified 'Aye!' and I leapt to my crew, having them load all six guns and peering out into the seemingly clear main as our ship turned sharply to the left as we wheeled about.

The gleaming bark of those damned French bastards appeared again and at once we fired, launching consecutive bruising blasts to its unscarred side. And this time, we made our marks defined and deadly.

But our men gave no cheer. We set to refilling the guns instantly, and the men scurried to budge the gun slightly to the left or right to better the aim; or to raise or lower the gun barrel to fire more precisely. Charley resurfaced from below and handed his cartridge to one of the men who handed it to the loader.

Our ship was rounding about tightly, as our larboard side prepared to fire back at the enemy vessel.  
"Barlow, below to Cavanaugh this instant!" yelled Johnson. I was caught off guard, my orders to my division suddenly shortened to a halt and turned to face my commanding officer. "Take two men with you, and bring the injured below."

"But, sir!" I protested.

"Now, Mister Barlow!"

With a muffled growl I stole away two men from my gun crew and together commanded them to haul the wounded bodies down below. As I ran down to the orlop deck, I heard the gun decks above groan as more shots were exchanged and the ship pitched violently, the sound of wood cracking and splitting becoming all the more apparent in my ringing ears.  
The battle was getting hot.

"Cavanaugh!" I screamed, coming down with my men dragging a few injured sailors. I rolled up my sleeves and nodded to him and he motioned over to a separate table where a young man lay. Without a word, I came to the point I was directed and looked down at the man lying down.

It was Dobbin.

"Dammit," I muttered, leaning down over Dobbin and prying open his closed eyes. "Speak, brother. Can ye hear me, mate?"

"Leg," he wheezed, grimacing as he said it. "Leg." I glanced southward to his limbs and felt my stomach twist at what I saw. Dobbin's left leg was the cushion for several large, bloody splinters that penetrated through flesh and bone, sticking up in a mess of sticky crimson paste.

"Oh, God," I gasped. "They're gonna have to come out, Dobbin. I gotta pull 'em out."

"No," he said, his hand weakly grasping my wrist. "Cut it off. Cut my damn leg off."

Echoing above me were the booms of another successful firing and the footsteps of the running men on the gun decks were overwhelmed by a greater cheer. Something had occurred that clearly put us in favor of winning, but my mind did not process that in the moment Dobbin had asked me to cut off his leg. All that I heard was the pounding of my heart and the short breaths seeping through Dobbin's closing, blood-lined mouth.

"Nay, Dobby, I can't. I ca—"

"For the love of God, do it!" he shouted, and again there was a subsequent explosion that reverberated through the bones of the creaking, wounded ship, with the howls of the dying men surrounding me on the blood-sodden floor. Their cries were echoes, and the hopeless men dreaded the echo of the freshly fired cannonballs and the force it inflicted onto the enemy that had injured them. Victory meant nothing to a man who was about to die because he would never achieve victory. Death would always remain undefeated in her alliance with the terrible ocean; the ocean that served as the graves of many, many poor listless souls.

"Dobbin…" I began, the tears fighting to burst out, but I would not let them fall. Crying would have distracted me. "Haul him off the table and pull the splinters outta his legs," I commanded, turning to my men.

I looked away from Dobbin as the men took him off the table and I called the next injured man up to receive treatment. Only, Lieutenant Kempe came storming down into the orlop, sword in hand and a bitter look about his face. "We're close to the ship—within a pistol shot. We're going to ram her bow. Back on deck! All men able get back on deck!"

My head swerved to Cavanaugh and he nodded for me to go, so I dropped the medical tools in my hand, wiped the blood off on my trousers and sprinted up to the main deck behind Kempe with the men capable of duty following us.

We emerged from the last gun deck and stepped onto the open deck under the broken sails and torn rigging. A handful of unfortunate sailors hung from the knotted mess of lines and ropes that were ripped apart from the blazing impact of cannonballs. I almost wanted to shield my eyes from the sight, but such events were unavoidable. I would have to suffer with the real nightmares.

My eyes burned from the fog of smoke hovering over our ship and the enemy ship, thus proving our excessive use of gunpowder and ammunition to get us this close to victory. Through the mist I peered for any sign of our enemy and found them dangerously close to us, her French flag still hanging limply by her stern in the still, dry air.

"Tell Mister Johnson to organize the starboard battery to fire for her mainmast," bellowed a voice that I did not heed. My eyes were fixed on the French ship, for I could almost feel the launch of firepower waiting to burst in the standstill both vessels were at.

"Aye, Captain," replied Kempe, saluting as he turned to sprint back to the first gun deck. It was only when he left did I turn and realize that I was standing a few feet away from the Captain, Lieutenant Thorne and the warrant officers.

"Thorne, assemble boarding parties. Call up the off-watch, and alarm Mister Bennett of my plans. Get all men on the second gun deck to me. Make sure they are armed and ready to repel boarders shall our enemy get to us first," said Carlisle, calmly gesturing to Thorne as the white-wigged man departed.

I looked at Captain Carlisle, a shield of water over my eyes for my womanly heart and stomach could not bear to withhold such atrocities of war. This was our final battle. This was to be a big win for our country. For them. Not for me.

With a sharp release of breath, he pulled out his spyglass and brought it to his right eye, scanning the movement of our composed opponent, his mouth bent down in hate and impatience.

"Will you just stand there, Barlow?" said he, not even looking back at me. "Or shall you find your division and prepare them for battle?"

"Aye, sir," I replied meekly, turning away from the starboard rail and swallowing hard.

"This is for your country, Mister Barlow," he added, noticing my weakness but still keeping his eye singled out on our elusive foe. "For your king. For your brothers on board. Do not disappoint them, lad."

_Aye, sir_.

I had not the strength or will to utter another word of agreement to him. Fear had dropped its rope around my neck and I could feel it slowly tightening with every step of progress we made towards triumph. Success for the _Resolve_ would only drop me from the hanging platform and my brothers on board would watch with contempt as I struggled and choked under the pressure around my neck. But perhaps I shouldn't have had such a negative view on the end of this battle. I still had brothers on board who would watch over me.

With a fleeting spirit, I trotted back below deck and to my division who waited in agony for the command to fire. _Soon, lads. Soon._

"Peterson," I said. "Arm your men with pistols and cutlasses. We're to board the enemy vessel on the captain's order."

"Aye, sir," said the man, and he left shortly to get the weapons.

To my startling surprise, I felt a hand on my shoulder and I spun around, so tense from the battle that I anticipated that anything that touched me needed to be terminated.

"Brother," I gasped, relaxing a bit and feeling myself shiver from being so uptight. "Good luck to you. I hope for the best," I said, though I wasn't entirely sure if I meant it. But dear brother, so calm in that boyish head of his, smiled instead.

"To hell with bloody hope, Jack. You'll pull through. You always do."

And to follow his gentle words of reassurance, a low rumble thundered from the enemy ship and struck us straight at our broken hull.

The men howled like wolves as they returned fire, the guns bucking back as fire burst from their spouts and out to the grey ocean. Something had hit my side, and I was enveloped in a silent pain for less then a second before finding the hurt gone. Within the blink of an eye, I was back into the calamity of war.

"Fire for her mainmast, lads!" rang Kempe's call as we hurriedly regrouped and responded to the crippling new wound delivered to the starboard battery.  
I vaulted to my division and pushed the slouching back of one of my men towards the closest cannon. "Recoil! Swab! Load!" I cried, pacing to and fro amongst my sector, all the while aspiring to muster my courage should we have to board our enemy.

"Run 'em out! Lovelace, push left! Faster! God dammit!" I barked, exerting my harsh authority as much as possible to keep my men from panicking. But perhaps I had done it more to keep my own self from abandoning the mission in blatant, deplorable cowardice.

"Raise the barrel!" I ordered, leaning forward towards one of the guns and indicating with a lift of my hand to reposition it. "Stand clear!" I said, grabbing hold of the lanyard and shooing any surrounding man away.

Crouching low so as to have my eyes at level with the barrel, I stared up the sleek cannon and into the square space of the port hole. I had looked up just as the tip of our _saboteur_'s foremast passed out of view. And there… the gleaming bark of the thick mainmast came into aspect.

As soon as I laid my eyes on it, my arm yanked fiercely at the lanyard and instigated the glowing sparks that shot out the gun spout, launching the iron ball into the air with a tail of disintegrating smoke behind it.

And _wham_! My shot had managed to chip off a piece of the mast, and the divisions after us added their own attacks to further bruise our foe's means of mobility. But it was Roland's division that fired the most detrimental shot to those damned Frenchies.

"Well done, lads!" applauded Kempe, grinning from within the haze. We all gave a brief roar of cheers, only to have our joy interrupted with Thorne's arrival from above deck, his face tight from excitement.

The yells that were previously exchanged between officers in order to get a message through were not necessary now that we had damaged our enemy to near immobility, and we had taken up the assumption that we would come out triumphant. However, Lieutenant Johnson must have seen that such a silence and interest in hearing what Thorne and Kempe would be talking about was dangerous to our advantage, and so prompted us to keep our eyes fixed on the sea and to our duty.

The only thing I did decipher from their murmurs was an "Aye, sir," from Kempe, and afterwards Thorne departed and Kempe addressed us all.

"Mister Turner, you're division shall command this ship as soon as we ram her bow. All other men to Captain Carlisle above decks. Quickly now!"

Every man fled from their positions and scurried up the steps to the open deck above us, and I followed behind them, wishing Roland good luck with a wave of my hand as I ascended up the steps. And once under the tattered sails, broken lines and smoky air, I caught sight of our destination.

"Barlow! To your division!" shouted Kempe as the men divided to assemble boarding parties.

I wove myself through the current of men rushing to and fro to arm themselves as we prepared to board. _Oh, God_, I thought, my stomach knotted and gorged with worry. _Please don't let this be my last day._ _Please, please, please…_

So occupied with my apprehension, I ran smack into Mister Sumner, and he was quick to seize my arm and throw a belt of pistols around my neck before releasing me back into the swarming throng, and the push and nudge of the movement of the men around me eventually brought me to the familiar face of my armed gun crew. Charley had a cutlass in his hand and he grinned as I approached.

"We're to follow Lieutenant Johnson's division, sir," informed Lovelace. I nodded and swallowed hard, looking down at myself and my empty hands and the hideously heavy belt of pistols that hung from my side. My left hand gripped the hilt of my sword and I pulled it out, the blade flickering in the light but I recognized no brilliance in itself. All of it was lost now that it had been used to kill a man, and would be used to kill many more.

"Charley," I said, taking in a few breaths and calming myself, though my heart was about to explode from treacherous worry. "Stay close t' me, all right?"

"Aw, Jack," he whined, raising his cutlass. "I'll be fine on me own. I'll show these damn French!" And some of the other men gave a few chuckles of encouragement to the lad, and so I decided to end my wish of keeping Charley safe beside me.

"Fine, fine," I sighed, readying my own weapon. "If any of you need help, you call for me, savvy?"

"Aye, sir," said my men in unison and I smiled timidly at them, surprised at their loyalty. But the happiness was shattered as we nosed up against our enemy ship and rammed against her bow with exceeded force, causing the bowsprit of our ship to collide with the one of the French ship's, and the boats met in a calamitous _crack!_ The wood broke as the force crushed the timber and amidst the attack, our officers still kept calm in the heat of battle.

"Grappling hooks away!" yelled Mister Sumner. "Drop the gangplanks!"

Moving as a giant mass, we all headed for the larboard rail of our ship, men in the rigging already tossing their grappling hooks over the side and others well on their way to the gangplanks launched. Shots fired overhead from the marines at the maintop and foretop, and I was pulled into the river of men following Lieutenant Johnson to invade our foe's borders.

As I ran, my hands fumbled with trying to get a pistol out of the belt around my neck and get it cocked so I could fire at first chance, but my hands were shaking badly and I couldn't let go of my sword, despite how sweaty my left hand had become. I glanced ahead of me and through the backs of the men in front, I noticed the close range of the rail of the French vessel. Dear God, was I close to danger and death, but there was nothing I could do about it.

Luckily, I managed to free and cock a pistol before we reached the railing and as simple as a jump over a fence, Johnson and his leading crew leapt over the French railing from the gangplank we filed over and onto enemy ground.

Swords and shots clashed immediately, the cries of men soon following accompanied by some other men's roars of uncontrollable fury, and I joined in as I bumped into the railing and swung myself over it, landing with sword in one hand and pistol in the other.

I was greeted instantly by a raging Frenchman bearing a pike as his weapon of choice. I squealed and ducked, dodging the sharp tip as it grazed against my coat and ripped a tear into the back. I locked my eyes on the Frenchman's side and fired the pistol, the bullet whizzing straight into his flesh, and I almost hissed from the pain myself as the man fell down, his dark blood rushing away from him.

My eyes glanced around me and saw more of the _Resolve's_ sailors land on the French deck and charge for any Frenchman they saw, and I tried to find Lieutenant Johnson, for I was supposed to follow his lead. "Lieutenant Johnson!" I screamed, pushing my way back into the safety of a group of British subjects funneling over the enemy's starboard rail.

Suddenly, I tripped over something that rolled across my path and I fell forward, knocking into some other men and causing them to fall down. And as I swerved my head around to catch sight of what I stumbled over, my eyes laid on the small, spherical mass of a hot grenade.

"Up!" I shouted, jumping to my feet and pulling up the men I knocked down along with me. "Up! Up!" I spun my head in the other direction and covered my face as the grenade went off and a burning sensation whipped across the back of my legs.

I rolled over on the deck and wobbled to my feet, the sting from the explosion still present, but I stole a look at my legs and saw that my stockings had only been grazed by the detonation, and no skin was burned off enough to bleed. Thankfully, none of the other men with me were badly injured and we all set out once again to thwart our French opponents.

Lieutenant Johnson happened to find me first before I found him, and it was by luck again, for I would have been skewered by another man with a pike if he had not shot the man in the back and seen me. "Try to get down below!" he ordered, handing me a few grenades to light and fire into one of the deck hatches. With a nod, I left to fulfill my order, readying another pistol should my sword prove unreliable, and it indeed did.

Another Frenchman spotted me, young and helpless as I was, while I tried to run to the closest hatchway, and he dashed straight towards me, axe in hand. Dropping the pistol, I held my sword with two hands and deflected his blow, struggling to keep him from pushing my sword to the side and hacking off my head. "_Condamnez!_" he growled, and I spat at his face.

"Go to hell, ye filthy French bastard!" And I pushed his axe to the side and rammed my knee straight between his legs and without even knowing it, ran the edge of my blade across his throat. He fell limply to the ground, shuddering in jerky movements, and I shook my head and walked away, a sob just waiting to escape from my mouth.

I located Peterson and Lovelace and recruited them to help light the grenades and cast them through the hatch, and miraculously, we succeeded in doing so without much interruption from our adversaries. Lovelace got shot in the leg while I threw the last grenade into the hatch and heard it successfully explode and cause a puff of smoke to burst from the opening.

"Get him back to the _Resolve_!" I ordered Peterson, propping Lovelace up and letting Peterson lift the man. "I'll guard you." My hands went once again to get a pistol from my belt and it was my last one. I cocked it and followed Peterson as he raced through the chaos to get over the railing and down the gangplank to the _Resolve,_ and I kept close behind, ready to strike should anyone hurt any of my men.

We managed to get Lovelace to Cavanaugh in time and without getting ourselves further injured, and we soon returned to the fever of battle, encompassing ourselves in the whirlpool of war.

I spotted a French rogue who was large and good with a cutlass, cutting down my British sailors as if they were flies in the air. So many were being knocked down. And so I remembered the trick Will had taught me. I tossed my sword up in the air and grabbed its hilt, and taking a step back, I aimed for the man and threw my blade with all my might straight at him, and straight through him it went. As he collapsed to the ground, I rushed to the injured sailors around the groaning, dying Frenchman.

I asked them all their names and divisions to distract them from their pain. And sometimes, I'd ask if they had a wife or sweetheart back home, and that seemed to keep their spirits and strength up enough for me to get some unhurt men to bring them to Cavanaugh on the _Resolve_. I managed to save a few, but some were too injured to make it, and I told them all before they passed that I was sorry I couldn't save them. But the words they said to me mostly resembled, "Nay, sir. Ye did what ye could. God Bless ya."

My pistols had run out, and I retrieved my blade from the dead man's body and set out to kill any other man who kept us from winning the fight, and on many instances I nearly lost my life. One man was triumphant in getting a cut on my face and another slit my wrist as we crossed blades. But I could still move and parry and thrust, and so I deemed that I was holding out rather well for my weak experience. Little did I know that life was just shadowing the truth from me with self-gained victory.

From afar, I heard what appeared to be crying, a wailing of some sort, and I sprinted down the deck to find its source, out-speeding any Frenchman who might have found me easy game, and extremely fortunate that some bloke didn't fire a shot at my turned back.

As the crying continued, I sharpened my hearing and found a familiarity to the voice that dropped my heart like an anchor.  
"Charley!" I cried, pacing around madly like a mother who had just lost her child. "Charley! Lad!"

"Jack! Jack!" came the faint call in reply and my face contorted with the desperate need to weep, but I could not. I could not. Not yet, I couldn't.

"Charley! I'm comin'!" My eyes skimmed over the deck rapidly and I found Charley huddled against the railing, a growing puddle of blood beneath his body. _Oh Charley…_

I landed on my knees in front of him and shoved my sword back in its scabbard as I lifted him up, my hands finding the large flesh wound inflicted onto his back. "Jack…" he said softly, his eyelids coming to a close.

"No, Charley! C'mon, now, lad. Stay awake for the Jackaroe." I stood up and sought to find the closest gangplank to send Charley over, and as soon as I found one, I moved my legs as swiftly as they would let me to it. Only, a Frenchman came up from behind and sliced me in my side, causing both a weeping Charley and myself to topple to the deck.

I squeezed my side and felt something wet seep through my shirt and my body seemed frozen with pain. I had never been so hurt before. "Jack! Jack!" howled Charley, trying to crawl away from his enemy, while I was left moaning on the floor, his pleas growing fainter by the second. "I don' wanna die, sir! Please!" I heard him beg, and it tore away his boyish pride to have to entreat to a Frenchman. _Oh, Charley..._

I stumbled to my feet, gripping the hilt of my sword and mustered by strength as I charged towards the Frenchman who was busy taunting Charley and speared him right through the chest. He gasped, utterly shocked by the attack and fell backwards, and I ran over to Charley who now suffered another sword wound while I wasted time trying to ignore my pain.

"Ye'll be all right, Charley, ye hear me?" I said, using my true voice. I somehow felt that if he heard a woman's voice, he'd be more soothed, and it worked.

Some of my men found me bearing a bleeding Charley in my arms and they took him and got him to safety, but that did not ensure that he'd survive.

The deck had not cleared or thinned as time passed by. The number of men appeared to remain constant, and so fighting never ceased either. I had gotten burned some more by another grenade, but my body could still move, and move I did until my mind and heart could honestly not tolerate any more blood.

But blood was what the ocean craved.

Yet, finally, Captain Carlisle's resolute voice echoed from below the top deck and informed us that the enemy had at last struck her colors, and I dropped my sword at the call, so relieved that I found no more need to fight. But I was stupid to believe that just because the colors were raised that battle was over. No proud man would ever accept defeat, and some continued to fight to the death.

I discovered it safe to make my way back to the ship, although some French were still trying to defend themselves and their country, and it was on my way back did I come across the face of the young man who I had kept buried in my sea of worries all through the battle.

A Frenchman ambushed him and cuffed him smack in the jaw, sending him backwards and to the hard deck.  
"_Bennett_!" I screamed, my hand racing to my hip to seize my sword but it wasn't there. The scabbard was empty, and it was only then when I realized that I had dropped my sword further down the deck.  
_Oh no…_  
I looked back at him quickly and saw him get up, blood dribbling from the corner of mouth and I convinced myself that he'd be fine for a while, or at least alive until I retook my sword and ran back to him.

I hurried down the deck and had gained so much speed that I had to slide in order to stop before my abandoned blade and I picked it up in less than a second before turning around. And as my head veered back in Bennett's direction, I saw the Frenchman fire a pistol and everything I saw, felt, and heard was drained from existence as I my heart thumped for one last time… and wrenched itself dead.

The shot echoed to my ears, its boom lingering in the air as I flew forward, running as fast as I could to Bennett, but he was hit dead on and tumbled to the floor, his sword falling from his bruised hand and landing clamorously to the deck.

"_Bennett_!" I wailed, and another bang burst into the atmosphere, a bullet zooming fast into the Frenchman's back, and my legs had been so worked from my struggle to get to Bennett that I fell to my knees and crawled over to where they lay, pushing the dead Frenchman aside and inching towards the young man I loved.

"Bennett…" I sobbed, touching his face and seeing the blood flow increase from his bloody jaw.

"Jack?" he asked, his eyes closing and his voice failing. I looked south and saw that the bullet had hit his abdomen, and I cringed as his uniform absorbed the thick, crimson liquid.

"Bennett…" I repeated, whispering his name as my vision was at last clouded with a screen of smoke and misery.  
But he said no more.  
Some men appeared behind me and pulled me back, not even giving me the time to wipe the blood off his face or to run a hand through his damp hair. No, they couldn't do that for me. They had to let me leave him be, leave him to lie there alone and aching. And as they tore me away from him I sobbed all the more, all the tears I had kept inside blasting out in a fit of hysterical despair. The men who lifted him up were Lieutenant Kempe and Johnson, and the man who had pulled me away, was none other than the Captain himself.

"_Bennett_!" I wailed, feeling myself hauled up off the ground by a new pair of hands and carried over the railing and back to the _Resolve_.

And as I was brought over the side, I looked straight at Captain Carlisle's face, my own visage streaked with wet tears as I implored to him silently to keep Bennett safe—to keep everyone safe. That was his job. That was his duty.

And he stared back at me with his sea green eyes, as if for once, he could do nothing.


	24. Trials and Confessions

_Chapter 24: Trials and Confessions_

_Water. Sand. Blood.  
Scrape. Clean. Mend.  
Pummel. Beat. Salt.  
Heal a broken Friend._

_Water. Sand. Blood.  
Sever. Cut. Heal.  
Bruise. Bleed. Cry.  
Please, this isn't real._

_Water. Water. Water.  
Rope. Rope. Rope.  
Lies. Lies. Lies.  
Will end this desperate hope._

**S**ick Bay was deluged with the wounded and the dead, the entire deck sinking under swelling pools of blood. My shoes were saturated with the thick, lukewarm fluid, and my uniform was smeared with splattered crimson handprints, drying slowly in the suffocating atmosphere. Lanterns hung everywhere, brightening the deck in an aggravating light and increasing the amount of sweat pouring from my creased brow.

_More water,_ I thought,_ More water. More sand. More blood._

Grimacing, I yanked the retractor out of its targeted bloody flesh and unveiled a small, spherical mass trapped within its rusted metal jaws, dripping with blood as profusely as sweat trickled down my face.

"Rum. Bandage," I ordered tonelessly, my throat tight and aching from the constant yelling of orders from before.  
A bottle was placed in my open hand, and I popped off the cork and dumped a good deal of the alcohol over my patient's bullet wound. He jerked violently as the liquid touched his mutilated skin, and his jaw stiffened considerably as his teeth dug deeper into the cloth wedged in his mouth to muffle his screams.

"You're his mates," I observed bluntly, glancing at the few sailors gathered around the operating table. "Take 'im to a hammock." I wrapped the disabled man's side with the bandage and wiped my face with the back of my hand, painting a wide streak of red across my forehead.

Leaning against the operating table and sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, I regained my bearings and ignored the persistent throb in my side before take a glimpse ahead of me.

"Anymore?" I breathed, stifling the release of a hiss with a bite of my tongue. Salt water invaded my tired eyes and succeeded in leaking out at the corners, despite my efforts to keep my tears contained.

No one came forward, but I heard footsteps behind me, approaching with caution but also at a steady, confident pace.

"No, Jack," he said, laying a hand on my quaking shoulder. "Cavanaugh's taken care of it."

"Thank God," I murmured softly, sniffling and attempting to relax myself.

"Are you all right, brother?" asked Roland, my rigidity passing to him as his hand refused to free my shoulder from his protective grasp.

"I'm fine," I answered, shoving his hand away. "Don't worry 'bout me, Roland."

I deserted him then, weaving my way through the countless rows of operating tables in which some recently treated sailors and officers lay, red and feverish from their wounds and from the uncomfortable heat. As I walked, the pain in my side increased and my left eye twitched at the pang, happening so impeccably just as I passed by Cavanaugh's crowded surgeon's pit.

I could feel his eyes dart towards me instantly.

"Jack," he beckoned, summoning me to him with a gesture of his bloodied hand.

"Aye, sir?" I responded, remaining in my spot and looking at him with squinted eyes. The blinding light of the seemingly overly abundant lanterns was becoming a greater and greater menace to my sensitive vision.

"You seem to be walking with a limp. Are you sure you have checked yourself for wounds? If I recall, Lieutenant Johnson informed me, as he brought you to sick bay, that you suffered quite a few burns on your calves." Natural instinct moved me to grin at the truth of Cavanaugh's observations.

"I did indeed, sir. But they are minor burns. Easily treatable with some oil, liniment and a bandage. I can manage. Honestly. My eye twitched solely from the candlelight and I appear to be limping because the wetness in my shoes has become overwhelmingly disturbing." The doctor's initial response was a mere raise of an eyebrow and a mistrusting look in his brown eyes, but after some thought, he turned around and called the next wounded sailor to him.

"Carry on then, Barlow," he said, some five minutes later and well after I had begun to teeter on the balls of my feet as I waited for him to speak. Raising my knuckle to my brow, I saluted him before hurrying away from sick bay, away from the men, away from any ship activity and to the head. There, I locked myself in the foul chamber and quickly doffed my jacket and shirt and examined my ribs and torso.

I winced as my hand grazed against a deep gash cut into my right side. It stretched to the far side of my back, narrowly missing slicing the flesh above my spine by a hair or two, and I heaved a sigh that begged to become a sob at the discovery. Such a gash would need to be stitched carefully, and I alone would be unable to perform a sufficient job on myself. But I could not afford to get exposed as a woman now. Everything was going my way. I was a midshipman. I had power, esteem, respect. I didn't want the appreciation to be drained from me just because of a stupid injury.

My mind was made up and reinforced with firm resolution as I pulled my shirt back over my head and made myself proper to return to Man's world. I would treat my wounds as best as I could and rely on God to save me or condemn me should my wounds fail to heal. But I hoped to God that my plan would work. Most of my plans had worked out just fine, and I didn't want my luck to run out now, if I even had any luck to begin with.

After all, I still hadn't found Jack, and all I had found were clues that did not tie together at all.

With my self-inspection over, I returned to sick bay in the orlop deck, wary of where I stepped, for each square inch of the floor would be used to house the injured victims. I did my best to walk properly, to present myself as if I were not harmed in any serious way from the battle, but never had I felt such pain before. The only thing that would ease it temporarily would be some liniment, and I'd have to face Cavanaugh in order to get it.

Perhaps my objective to abscond from any meeting with the dear ship's surgeon only drew Cavanaugh to pay more attention to me. He might have not been open about it, but he succeeded plenty well in keeping me under his eye.

"Barlow," he addressed, as soon as I passed by him again. "Help the men sew up the dead in their hammocks. Prepare them on the starboard side, near the hatchway to the gun deck above."

"Aye, sir," I answered, changing course and shuffling to the growing pile of dead men, and my eyelid flinched again at the sight of them.

I called over a few sailors who were just ambling about and ordered them to find the hammocks of the dead sailors. Most of us knew the faces of the deceased, and so we easily retrieved the hammocks to their corresponding owners. Working in pairs, we lifted each heavy, listless body onto a hammock and commenced to sew them up inside from head to toe. Silence appeared to be the only companion we had as we worked, for there was nothing to say that would keep our faces rigidly indifferent.

As we came to sewing up one of the last men, I noticed a group of figures sitting apart from us as we worked, and I turned and faced them, shocked to see the worn, bleary-eyed visages of my dear ship's boys.

"John?" I asked, dropping my needle and thread and approaching him. He turned away from me and wrapped his arms around his knees, and my eyes followed his stare, and there in the middle of their group lay Charley, looking blankly at me with dulled grey eyes.

The boy's death overwhelmed me and I crumbled to my knees, pressing my clenched fists to my eyes to keep myself from crying, and my teeth piercing my tongue to stay any wail waiting to be released. _Oh God, Charley… Oh, God…_

My mind was swarmed with questions. Why did he die? I rescued him. He was supposed to live. He was saved. He was saved. By God, he was saved, _dammit_! Innocent boys don't deserve to die. He never even got the chance to wash away the soot from his face. Not one chance for him. Not one.

The sting in my wounds augmented, and I rose with a scowl, my aggravation overrunning my despair, and I walked to Cavanaugh, with anger begging to burst into tears.

"Why?" I screamed, nearing him and stopping at the operating table, not even paying heed to the wounded man on it.  
"Jack, I am in the middle of business, and you could very well give this man infection if you do not leave this area promptly."

"Why, Cavanaugh?" I repeated, never lifting my glare off of him, and he faced my savagery with complacence beyond any I had ever had and could ever conquer.

"I know the boy was dear to you ship's boys, Barlow. I did what I could. Do not ask me why again with a raised voice."

"But he was a child, Cavanaugh!" I wailed. "How could you have not saved him? That's your job! That's your duty!"  
"Jack!" he bellowed, his dark eyes chilling from lack of understanding. "Do not tell _me_ what is my duty. I know what it is, boy, and if I could have done more to save the lad, I would have!"

"No, you wouldn't!" I sobbed, raising my arm to swat him, but a hand caught me from behind and pulled me back.

"What the hell are you doing, Jack?" it demanded, and I only continued to push forward.

"You didn't save him! You didn't _want_ to save him! He wasn't worth your time, now was he?"

"Jack, shut up!" ordered Roland, as he struggled to keep me restrained. "You shut up now, or I swear Thorne will have you switched!"

"No! No! I won't. I _won't_! Charley's dead, Roland! He's dead! He's _dead_!" He managed to spin me around and shake me good in order to drive sense back into my delusional head and he was only confronted with my sobs, and dear brother though he was, he refused to comfort me.

"Come, Jack," he said softly, ushering me out of sick bay. "I think you need to rest, brother."

The beat of a heart was all I could perceive in my drained agony. It pulsed slowly… _thump, thump_… and the sound pounded in my skull, echoing from ear to ear. I almost thought that I could feel my fresh, hot blood flowing through my veins, imagining that I was hearing the rush of blood swishing to my head, but swamped over by the throbbing of my heart.  
I exhaled, stretching out my release of breath as I reacquainted myself with my surroundings. My fingertips distinguished the coarse fabric of my hammock, and I remembered where I was immediately and opened my eyes.

"Roland?" I croaked, lifting my head a bit. The midshipmen's berth was dimly lit, a lone lantern hanging from the ceiling, its light faded and warm, but not strong enough to expose the dark corners of the berth.

From within the shadows I saw a figure move and murmur a few words. "Yes, A—" He coughed and attempted to speak again. "Yes, Jack?"

"How long have I been out?" I sat up and realized that Roland had taken off my blood-soused shoes and so I scanned the floor for them as I waited for his reply.

"A few hours. Sick bay has quieted. There are few operations going on, if there are any at all, and many of the dead have been sewed up. A church service will be held tomorrow in their memory."

I found my shoes and slipped them on, finding them still wet. But I nodded in accordance to Roland's words and stood up. "Any news as to where we're headed?"

"To Cyprus," he answered, rising up from his chair. "Although we're closer to Egypt, we wouldn't be able to dock there. Too many enemies."

I asked him how long it would take us to get there, for I began to wonder how long I'd be able to keep my wounds hidden from Cavanaugh. If we reached land and he didn't know, I'd probably be able to tend to my wounds better, but if not, I'd be doomed.

"A week maybe. Maybe less if the wind loves us. Maybe longer if the ocean hates us."

"Why do I have a feeling it will be the latter?" I moaned miserably, stepping out of the berth.

"Because you are a depressed fool, that's why," joked Roland as he gently nudged me forward. His remark only had me smiling for less than a second before I became flooded with the sorrows of war.

"Have ye seen Andy?" I asked, as we walked back to sick bay. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair and looked up at the ceiling as he thought.

"Yes, I have. He's doin' fine if yer wonderin'. Just has a few cuts and bruises."

"Then how's Dobbin?"

At that, dear brother's eyes undertook that dead grayish hue again, and his steps quickened away from me, though not too swiftly as to leave me behind.

"His leg was amputated," said Roland at last. "But he ain't doin' well, Jack. He has a high fever and can't even talk. His condition is critical."

"Let's visit him then," I suggested, and so we did.

Roland's description proved real enough, and Cavanaugh forbade us to be within ten feet of the critically ill. I spotted Bennett's face among those in that area of sick bay, and my stomach churned and my heart ached. Would I lose both a dear friend and a dear love simultaneously?

Only time would tell.

A few days passed as we made our way to Cyprus. The church service was difficult to endure without crying with womanly, high-pitched wails, but Roland's consistent pat on my shoulder reminded me to grasp my mettle and to hold it as long as possible, for failure to confront my deepest fears and apprehensions would not move me forward, and I had already strayed away from my true mission long enough.

I even considered confessing to Cavanaugh and to have him report my presence to the captain. In that way, I hoped that I would not be punished too severely, but my mouth persisted to be shut, for the possibility of a hanging was too deadly to risk with a simple admission.

The wounds gouged onto my body were treated with the best of my skill, without not one soul knowing. I did not even tell Roland, for I understood immediately that he would demand a meeting with Cavanaugh, and I could not bear such a conference without collapsing into a howling human waterfall. Nature though, appeared to have the upper hand, for every day that passed, the injuries only seemed to get worse.

When the fifth day after the battle came, the pain was unbearable, and the weather had become so insufferably humid that I could scarcely breathe, let alone work properly. While on watch, my knees ached and my legs felt limper than dead fish. I was eternally grateful when Lieutenant Johnson suggested I go below, and his eyes were dimmed with some apparent concern.

My limbs carried me down to the mess hall with wobbly, uneven steps, and I was obliged to reach out with my arms in order to steady myself as I walked down there. Andre found me hobbling down and lessened my troubles with yet another alarmed countenance as he gently pulled me towards where Roland sat with a few of the other mids.

Once I arrived, Roland shot up from his seat like a bullet from a pistol and helped me onto a bench, and I nearly fell down like a lump of bones. I didn't understand my weakness. I had treated my wounds as Cavanaugh would have done. I cleansed them with water, then rum and then applied the liniment. Afterwards, I wrapped the gashes with clean bandages. I had done everything correctly, and yet I felt immensely close to dying.

"Are you all right, Jack?" I heard Roland say, his voice sounding as if it was being pushed through a barrier in which I could not hear. It was as if he voice was mingled with the blood rushing to my head. It was muffled with a constant thump.

I nodded and murmured what I thought was a yes. I honestly did not know what I was saying. My eyes burned and I could taste the sweat collecting at the corners of my mouth—salty and bitter.

"Ya need a drink, mate?" offered Andre. I attempted to pry open my eyes wider and to look at him as I searched for my response. But when I opened my eyes, my vision was blurred.

"Yes," I answered, heaving out a large sigh and sending my head back as the pain surged to a peak.

"Jack," started Roland, a tone of worry in his voice. "Brother, you're crying."

"I'm not," I mumbled, my fists clenching as invisible hammers bombarded my skull.

"Jack, listen to me!"

I ignored him and gathered my strength as I stood up and proceeded to scoot out of the booth and to my hammock.

"I'm fine, Roland. I'm fine." I repeated the words over and over again, either to myself or to him. I wasn't sure who was the one listening, and I didn't get far as soon as I stepped out of the booth in the mess hall.

I tripped over my own two feet and plummeted to the wooden deck, my body exhausted from the heat, my blood rushing madly to my head and my mind as black as Davy Jones' soul.

_The nightmare arrives in vapors made of blood  
The torment begins after crawling in the mud  
The assault intrudes the sleeping over night  
The gallows await the dreamer at first light…_

_For a confession has brought you  
To where you wish to be  
And a confession will rob you  
Of your precious Ocean-Sea_

_Her bitterness feeds off of your success  
Her anguish elevates when you don't digress  
Her laughter peaks when you ache inside  
Her power speaks when she wills you to die…_

_For a dream has brought you  
To where you wish to be  
And that dream has robbed you  
Of your precious Ocean-Sea_

Battle haunted me. The recurring images of the bones, the blood and the bile flooded my mind, and the torrent would not cease. Gunshots and screams pummeled me from all sides and I was helpless to the attacks and left shrieking in the dark.

My wounds would not heal. Every open gash bled unremittingly, leaving me pale as the moon and still crying over the combat. The ocean was angry with me and she unleashed her ire on everyone around me, and then left the blood on my hands—to frame me. And the ocean I once loved, loved me no more, and I did not understand why.

Gradually, a light dusted my eyes and the presence of voices trickled into my ears, and unlike before, I could hear more clearly. The voices were all male—speaking—but I did not know exactly what they were talking about. The words were still murmured, and so with my hearing at a fault, I willed my eyes to open.

There, beside me stood Doctor Cavanaugh and Roland, and my brother's face was awfully worried over some certain ordeal that I was unaware of, and Cavanaugh was trying his best to calm him. But for what?

"You must tell him that you are busy with him right now," pleaded Roland, and I squinted my eyes as the bewilderment rose higher.

"If he demands to come in, I must oblige, Mister Turner," replied Cavanaugh, though with great sorrow in his voice. "If he wants to see her, I have to allow it."

"I can't allow her to be exposed like that, Doctor. I can't! I _won't_!"

"She risked it the day she stepped on board, Turner," countered Cavanaugh, and he expelled a heavy sigh that seemed to exhaust him in one departure, for he sat himself in a chair beside my cot and leaned his forehead against his palm.

Roland stood nearby, fists clenched and his face bitter with worry.

"Make way for the captain!" shouted a man from afar, and as soon as I heard 'captain,' my eyes bolted open and a fear was awakened in me, a chaotic web of realizations surging to my head as I finally comprehended the argument.

I sprang up from the mattress and at once cried out, for a sharp pain pierced my side again. Cavanaugh and Roland rushed towards me and it was only when I felt Cavanaugh's hands on my stinging abdomen did I see that my shirt was off of me, and I was dressed in a rather large night gown.

_Oh. Dear. God._

I shoved his hands away and looked frantically at myself. The cloth around my chest was gone, and was replaced with a bundle of bandages, and the fear banged against my head, pushing me into a state of denial and tears.

"Roland," I whimpered. "Roland." _Brother, brother, please…_ He came to me and immediately, I clung to him, burying my face into his shoulder as I wept.

"Shh, Astrid. I'm sorry," he whispered soothingly, but his wavering voice moved me to think otherwise. Brother was just as scared as I was.

"I don't want them to know, Roland," I sobbed. "No, no, no!"

"I had no choice, Astrid. I had to bring you to Cavanaugh, or I thought you'd die," answered Roland, his own cheek getting wet. I pulled away and brought my knees up to my chin and hugged myself, crying like no tomorrow, for indeed, it very well could have been my last day.

"Astrid…"

I made no answer. The secret was out. I had been exposed and now the torrent would never cease to crash against me and drown me in my guilt. The pedestal had been dropped and the noose had cracked my neck.

"Miss Sparrow," began Cavanaugh, coming forward, but he was interrupted. The flap of the tent entrance was lifted and in walked Captain Carlisle, followed by his three lieutenants and the warrant officers.

I did not look at them. I did not breathe. I did not cry. For as far as I saw it, I was already as good as dead.

"What is this, Doctor?" demanded Carlisle, his voice rising grimly.

"Sir, I ask of you to please remain calm. I understa—"

"He asked you to explain," barked Thorne, and I listened as his footsteps hurried forward, and I deemed that his whole body was bristling with anger. _Dear God, dear God, dear God…_

Cavanaugh would not speak, and the water flowed endlessly from my eyes, running hot down my cheeks and into my hands. Roland must have felt the same unease that was rousing in my stomach, and he kept close to me, laying a hand on my shoulder as I convulsed from my muffled sobs.

"Damn you," muttered Thorne to Cavanaugh and the footsteps grew nearer, and I thought my poor heart was beating so fast that it'd explode.

"Move, Turner," he ordered, but dear brother simply stayed in his place, nailed to the ground in a strong determination to see me unharmed.

"I won't let you touch her," he defended.

"Shall I have you flogged then, Turner?" threatened Thorne, and I knew he would have continued with his threats and perhaps a physical attack if Captain Carlisle hadn't interrupted.

"Whoever you are, whether you be a ship's boy or woman, I demand to know what you are doing here, on _my_ ship, in this navy." This _navy, _I thought, _as if I don't belong to it despite what I've done._

His answer was my silence. I would not speak under such a daunting environment, with nearly every man in the room wanting to kill me or do worse, and I would not move one muscle until I knew it was safe to reveal my secrets, and the captain must have miraculously sensed this.

"Thorne," he dictated, his voice harsh and loud. "You're on the ship watch."

And with a few seething glares and ungrateful huffs, the white-wigged man left, leaving me with men who I trusted far more.

"Now speak, girl," said Carlisle.

I slowly lifted my head, weary of the crying, weary of battle, and weary of everything. Roland handed me a handkerchief to wipe my tears and with a dry, quivering face, I faced my interrogators and gulped.

"_My name is Astrid Jacqueline Turner Sparrow_," I began. "_And I'm here because I love my father, and I have come to look for him…_"

The questioning was complete, and the men had finally left me in peace. Carlisle called Roland to him, and although insubordinate he had been to Thorne, he could not afford a refusal to the captain, and so he left, but not without a few hopeful words towards my fate.

With him gone, I lay on my side and looked up at Cavanaugh, who was occupied preparing something in a bowl for me.

"I'm a dead man, aren't I?" I asked dully, knowing that the answer was a certain 'yes.'

"No, I wouldn't say that," replied the doctor, glimpsing back at me. "You'd be a dead woman, but a man? I think not." I smirked weakly at that and breathed in, feeling the bandages around my upper body stretching because they were bound so tightly.

"Drink this, my God, Miss, you would have died of infection if your brother had not brought you to me in time." He gave me the bowl he had and I took a sip of the liquid in it. It tasted like… lemon juice mixed with sugar-water.

"Why? I sewed up my wounds correctly and applied the liniment."

"You were deprived of citrus," scorned Cavanaugh, taking a seat beside the cot I rested on. "I'm guessing you must have had sore limbs and a sore mouth, correct?"

"No," I denied, and Cavanaugh took the bowl away from me and motioned for me to open my mouth. He then stuck a finger in and pushed hard on my gums.

"Ow!" I yelped, and he pulled his finger away and on its tip was a wet splotch of blood.

"Ever heard of those sea stories about men getting sick because they wouldn't eat their fruits?" He raised an eyebrow at me, and I felt terribly sheepish. Maybe I should have eaten that fruit when last we were on land. No wonder I felt so exhausted. "You'll need to be in bed for at least a week, and you'll have to drink this mixture I've made for you constantly. Every few hours at least, to get your body replenished."

"So I am guaranteed at least another week to live?" I questioned solemnly, and Cavanaugh sighed at my pessimism.

"If you must see it that way, Miss, then you do. Though, I must tell you this: a perspective such as that will not get you far, even if you feel as if a noose is already tightening around your neck." I frowned and rolled over to the other side, so that my back faced the doctor and I could stare at the other side of the tent I was in.

"Stubborn as a boy and still stubborn as a girl," I heard Cavanaugh sigh, and his generalization moved me to turn back over and glare at him. I felt much more comfortable expressing my faces towards him now that he knew who I really was.

"How…" I paused and bit my lip, tasting the lemon juice still there. "How did you find out? Did Roland tell you?"

The doctor eased back into his chair, pushing his spectacles back up his nose before looking back at me and sighing again. Sweat was collecting in small droplets across his wrinkled forehead and his brown eyes showed off a fatherly glint to them. I knew as I looked at him that I owed much to him. He taught me well, watched over me, healed me. Why, he was just as good a fatherly-figure as I had ever had in my life.

"Well, where to begin?" he started, scratching his head. "Your brother and a few of his mates barged into my office, with you lying like a doll in his arms. Your face was red, your hair matted and sticky with perspiration, and at once I knew something was wrong. I directed your brother and your friends to the operating area, but Mister Turner would not let me take you out of his arms and onto the table. The lad told me that he wanted to say something before I began and that the information was confidential. As a doctor, I am obliged to take that request. And within the safety of my office, with no one but your brother and myself, he told me your true identity."

My lips remained closed, and I just released a soft snort at the story. Roland did what he had to do in order to keep me alive, but I still wished that he didn't have to fret so much. But then I reevaluated the story and figured that without such an interruption, I probably would have died. I was the luckiest sister in the world to have such a good brother. I got him out of the water when he almost drowned, and well… he got me out of a boiling fever and mortal wounds.

"And then once you found out, you ordered all other men out of the area and did your operation," I replied, anticipating his word of agreement. Cavanaugh nodded and brought his hands together as he leaned forward. He pressed his lips together and looked away again.

"You must understand, Miss Sparrow, that I wasn't terribly disturbed by the news your brother told me." His comment sparked my attention, and I sat up and narrowed my eyes on him.

"Really? How?"

"I have a daughter, Astrid. She's five. And I also have a wife, and as a doctor, I tend to take note of trends among the sexes." I chuckled lightly and rested my chin in the palm of my hand as I listened to the rest of his story. "The way you work," he continued, "reminded me of how my wife conducts her own household activities: focused, stern, quick. It took a while to get you to focus, but once it became routine, your eyes rarely left your duty. And then there was the matter of hands…" He reached forward and took my free hand and turned it over so that it was palm up. I noticed some of the scars still nicked onto the fingertips from the days of peeling damn potatoes for Mister Cooke.

"What about me hands?" I wondered.

"They're small, thin, and miraculously not as calloused as a sailor's. Shall we compare hands?" He brought his own hand out and placed it beside mine. His was larger, tanner, and rougher, and my fingers seemed as if they belonged to a little girl's rather than a fifteen-year-old ship boy's.

"I suppose you make a point, Doctor," I said, not quite sure of myself.

"Don't be uncertain, Miss. It was no wonder that your patients screamed far less than mine. Your hands were less… grazing."

The mentioning of "patients" caused me to think of my sailors, and that in turned reminded me of a possible trial. I moaned at the likelihood and rubbed my eyes vigorously.

"Any patient I saved will probably want to condemn me to the gallows as soon as he finds out I'm a woman," I growled, kicking at the blankets that covered my feet on the cot.

"Not necessarily. There are plenty of men out there who will gladly support you. It might help though, if you tell them why you are here. Many will assume you snuck on board to…" His voice trailed off and I quirked an eyebrow at him, waiting for what he had to say.

"To what?"

"To fool around with the boys. That's the simplest way I can put it," he mumbled hurriedly, obviously not wanting to anger me with the likely thoughts of my fellow brothers on board.

"But I'd never—"

"Exactly. Anyway, I should be tending to my other patients. You have a tent all to yourself on the beach so don't be too worried."

"The beach?" I echoed. "But I thought we…" I stopped myself and looked around. I leaned over the edge of my cot and looked at the floor and saw that I was not looking at a bunch of creaky wooden ship planks. I was looking at a square of natural, rocky earth. "We're in Cyprus?" I asked, and the doctor bobbed his head a few times in response. "When did we arrive?"

"Yesterday, Miss. But I really ought to go. There are still many critically wounded." He got up from his seat and exited the tent, leaving the entrance flap waving weakly in the flowing air. _Critically wounded_... I repeated in my head, and I thought back to my dear Bennett and Dobbin.

I reached over to grab the bowl of lemon juice sitting on a small stand beside me and brought it back to my lips. The action suddenly felt primeval. I did not drink because I was thirsty, nor did I drink because I actually thought it would heal me (although Cavanaugh said it would and he was, more or less, correct all the time), but I drank because I was drawn to drinking, as if my mind had taken on a stance in which I could not understand what I was doing. It was manual.

With that thought, I brought the drink away from my lips and decided that my slow brain was probably due to my lack of citrus. Perhaps no fruit in your diet for months also affected your mind. Slurping up the rest of the juice, I set the bowl aside and wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my large nightgown and then pursed my lips. There was no doubt that I was a dead man—_woman_, but I promised myself and Mum and Dad that I would not die until I found my Captain Jack Sparrow. But to defy the whole navy would be a tricky task. Would they sympathize with me? _Of course not; they're men. They'd rather see you dangling like a boned fish than fraternizing more with the officers and sailors._

"How am I going to get out of this mess?" I asked myself, beginning to pull at my hair. "How am I—"

My sentence was shortened as someone walked into the tent, and my heart nearly stopped when I saw his face. I gulped and felt fear escalating up my spine, and I desperately wished that Cavanaugh had not left me.

"Hello, Astrid," he said, expelling a sinister chuckle. He ran a hand through his sleek black hair as he grinned at me and my stomach churned with uneasiness. If I hadn't had such an empty stomach, I would have vomited.

"Get out, bastard!" I shouted, but he kept moving forward, calmly, with his hideous smirk still glued to his lips. I scooted further back on my cot so that I almost ran into the flimsy tent wall. However, I stopped myself from toppling over.

"I knew there was something funny about you, _Jack_," he mocked. "I began to wonder why I kept thinking about you, even though you were a boy. For a while I thought I was a damn sodomite." He laughed and walked right up to my cot, and I could not get away. I wouldn't get far if I got out and ran because my abdomen still ached like no tomorrow. His hand reached out and smoothed out a corner of the blanket that covered my feet, but being who he was, I knew he wouldn't have done that out of the goodness of his heart and I was right. He rounded about the corner of my cot, his hand still lying flat on the sheets and then gliding smoothly, closer to my foot.

With a squeal, I kicked his hand away and he stepped back, amused and raising both his hands up in the air in a feigned surrender.

"Funny little Astrid," he cooed, returning to me. I had become so frantic that I scurried further away from him and forgot about the fact that the cot ended at some point or another and I fell off, landing hard on my bum and causing Victor Griffith to continue to chortle.

"Leave me alone. I'll call for Roland. I will!" I threatened.

"Whatever happened to your strong-willed self, hmm?" he asked, coming closer to me and bending down to pick me up. I didn't want him to touch me, but he was too quick and before I knew it, he had lifted me up and set me back on my cot, his flickering eyes never leaving mine. My throat tightened.

"You were so ready for a fight, Astrid. Now why do you suddenly cower from me in fear?"

_Because I know why you're here, you sick bastard._

"I'm not a fool anymore, Griffith. If you touch me again, I'll yell for Cavanaugh and Roland and Andy. They'll beat your ass right back to—"

"Oh, I see. Being on a ship has gotten you your manly guards, Astrid? And I always thought you could take care of yourself. And no, I did not come here to toy with you if that's what you were thinking…" He lowered his head close to mine, so close that I could feel his breath on my nose. With a whisper, he said, "I'm here to tell you news about Bennett…"

"What's happened to him?" I screamed, but Griffith seized my mouth with his hand and shut up any more of my screams. I tried to jerk my face free, but he looked at me fiercely.

"We need to keep our voices low, Astrid," he whispered before releasing my throbbing lips.

"What's happened to him?" I asked again, my voice small and weak.

Griffith grinned and rested the side of his face against mine so that he could speak directly into my ear. My heart was pounding madly and my mind was wandering like a fool in a dark whirlpool of apprehensions.

"How about you do me a small favor before I tell you?"

"I won't do anything for you, you damn—"

"Let me finish," he interrupted. "I just want a kiss. That's all, Astrid. I still remember when you kissed me at your fifteenth birthday celebration. I still remember the taste of your lips…" My eyes widened as my gut twisted with an enormous weight of fear.

"Just that?" I questioned warily and he said yes. "And you'll tell me what's happened to Bennett?"

"Everything, my dear. Everything." I closed my eyes and swallowed another lump in my throat before nodding subtly to his terms. He lifted his head and looked down at me, his thumb rubbing my chin and then moving up to my lips.

_Oh Dear God, help me…_

_I didn't understand why my eyes had suddenly watered, and I scolded myself for being such a whore, but I was doing this for Bennett. What if he was dying and I wouldn't know until the day he died because I said no to Griffith? Could this possibly be a good thing?_

He parted my mouth before kissing me, his lips unexpectedly hot, and I braced myself should he do anything else, but he remained true to his word, shockingly, and when the filthy embrace was complete, he smiled and said, "Bennett's… just fine," before he stood upright, winked at me and exited the tent with a new and sickeningly excited air about his steps.

As soon as he left, I wiped my mouth repeatedly with the sleeve of my gown, rubbing harder with every stroke. But even if I had mopped his saliva off of my lips, some of it would still remain inside my mouth, and there would be no way of getting rid of. For there was no way to distinguish between his spit from mine.

The sun and moon exchanged positions seven times before Cavanaugh found my health restored, and thus able to amble about the encampment. If there was any walking I would do, it would be to sick bay, or wherever Bennett and Dobbin were. It was best if I kept a low profile since I wasn't sure if the news had leaked out all over the crew that Midshipman Jack Barlow was indeed a Midship_wench_ Astrid Sparrow. But the doctor was no fool to let me wander around by myself in the horrid nightgown that I was stuck in for a week. He made sure that I got my clothes back, and I decided to wear my mid uniform, perhaps settling on that piece of attire with the faintest hope that the men would still respect me.

But I knew I wasn't _that_ fortunate.

Cavanaugh forbade me to wear that constricting little vest across my chest again, saying that it was probably one of the reasons I passed out. It restricted my breathing. And, knowing Cavanaugh, I knew he would decline my wish to see Bennett and Dobbin if I did not agree, so I did. I did feel a puncture in my pride by having to take orders and be a good, obedient dainty girl again, but I was doing this for Bennett and Dobbin, and one could only hope that they'd be alive to pay me back, only in jest though.

Roland escorted me to where my dear friends were, and he still called me 'Jack.' Was there any point in saying that name anymore? For as far as I could see, many a man sent me odd looks when we passed by them._They know, Roland, you idiot. They know. They know. They know…_

I jabbed him in the side with my elbow when he called me 'Jack' for the umpteenth time, and quick as he was, he got it and rolled his eyes at me.

"Some _don't_ know, _Jack_," he said softly. "However, _most_ do. The captain is debating whether or not to have a trial. He is still investigating your story, but you must be warned, dear sister, that Thorne is incredibly determined to give you the noose, and he is, sadly, second in command. God be with you if a trial takes place."

"Thank you for telling me I'm going to die," I murmured angrily and he shot a look at me.

"I didn't confirm anything, Astrid. Just… keep your mind off it. C'mon. Andy's wavin' to ye."

I lifted my head and stared ahead and there was my dear ship's boy companion beckoning us over. I took it that Roland told him that we were coming for Bennett and Dobbin.

I managed a smile and waved back, hurrying my steps.

"Ahoy, Andy," I greeted, using my true voice, and he came forward grinning.

"Hullo, there, _Jack_," he said. "Ye know, I should 'ave known it was you all this time. When Roland tol' me it was you, well, I was shocked beyon' belief, but then I thought 'bout it an' I tied yer face to the lass Lieutenant Locke was with and whaddya know? It fit."

Andy always managed to make me laugh. He thought so simply, and he didn't care if he wasn't as smart as Roland or Bennett or Dobbin. I believed he liked his simple way of life and thinking.

"I thought ye'd hate me when you'd find out," I replied. "'Cause well, I didn't tell ye anythin' 'bout it."

"No, it's awright. Hey, if ye think about it, I slept with ye for nearly half a year!"

"Newton," warned Roland, punching Andre lightly on the arm, while I stood there bemused and smirking at the joke.

"It's jus' a bit o' fun, Roland. C'mon, there's a few people who want to see ya, Miss Sparrow." He mimicked a prim gentleman and stepped out of my way, his arm extended and directing me to where I should be heading. I went and Roland followed, but not after he sent another playful punch to my crazy seaman.

Andre led us to a large tent, and I was wary to enter it, fearing the worst. "Bennett's all right, isn't he?" I asked, though I wondered why I did. Griffith had told me he'd be fine, and if he wanted a kiss from me, he _should_have told the truth, the bastard.

"See for yerself," said Andre, and he opened the tent flap at the entrance and held it up for me as I walked through.

The tent inside was not as dark as I thought it would be. It was actually well lit, and it wasn't full of ailing patients. The majority of them were sitting up in bed and chatting with one another. My eyes searched slowly for the faces of my comrades in case either of them didn't see me standing there motionless beside Andre and Roland.

From the midst of the prattling and chatter, I heard a voice shout, "Jack!" and my heart almost stopped at the sound.

"_Bennett?_" I shrilled, sprinting forward.

I saw him leap out of his cot and rush towards me, and as soon as he was within arm's reach, I latched myself to him in a tight embrace.

And my first reaction was a deafening, "Ow!"

"Sorry," I mumbled, loosening my grip on him. His face was grimacing from the pain of my loving, but constricting, hug, but the joy he felt was still highly blatant in his shining blue eyes.

"It's all right," he said, looking down at his side; it was the side he was shot at and I patted the tender spot gently. "Now it feels better," he teased and I giggled behind my closed, curving lips.

"Bennett," I started softly, craning my head back so that I could look at him. "Do all these men know about me?"

I could feel him take in a breath as his eyes wandered for an answer. "Y-Yes… they do. You have your friend to thank for that." He nodded at someone behind us and I turned my head around and saw Andre waving back at us, giving us a cheeky smile.

"Newton…" I scowled, and he just shrugged his shoulders at me with a look on his face that seemed to say, 'You'll thank me later.'

_Right my arse, I'll thank you, you dastardly dog._

Reading my glare, Bennett slid his hand under my jaw and made me face him, leaning down and kissing me delicately, causing a great deal of whoops and hoots from the men in the tent. _Oh, Bennett, must you embarrass me in this way?_

"What a show, Jack-a-roe!" yelled someone, and Roland figured out who had spoken before I did.

"Dob!" cried my brother and into the tent hobbled in Dobbin, waving his top hat around like a flag as he signaled his great entrance. Despite leaning on some crutches with a missing left leg from the knee down, he still was truly himself. My dear, insane Robert Lester.

Tagging Bennett along, I skipped over to Dobbin and met him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Nice to see ye all right, Dobby," I said, my womanish heart forcing water to my eyes, but I bit my lip so that I would not end up crying in front of all these men. True, they knew I was a girl, but I still largely desired for them to take me seriously as an equal.

"You too, Astrid," answered Dobbin, giving me a few pats on the back. "Don't worry. Every man in this tent has got yer back, mate." And it was that remark that sent the tears falling, for it made me all the more certain that my life was, and would remain, in jeopardy.

The first time I had ever given myself the opportunity to actually _look_ at Cyprus was, unfortunately, when I was being led back to the ship. It was shortly after I had spent some time with Dobbin, Bennett, Roland and Andre in that tent in sick bay. My laughs were slaughtered and my joy stolen as all three lieutenants marched into the tent, silent, grim, and with coldness in their eyes. Thorne had in his hands a pair of irons.

Immediately, my mates stood up in front of me, creating a human barrier between our superiors and my inferior woman self. But as quick as a whip, one bark from Thorne forced my mates to stand aside, for this was the navy, God dammit, and any quandary was to be fixed by all means possible.

Roland led me to them, his grip on my arm tight, but yielding as well. It was easy to observe the indecision in his eyes, for although grey they looked, the sunlight seeping through the tent entrance returned the hopeful hazel hue. And his face was the last thing I saw before Kempe's hands held my shoulders and pushed me out of the tent.

In the open air, I was told to extend my arms, wrists side by side, and so I did, frantically worrying about what they would do to me. Was I going to get hanged? Beaten? Dismissed?

The irons clasped together in a heavy 'clank' and its chains dangled lifelessly, giving off a whispering chime. "Astrid Sparrow, otherwise known as Jack Barlow," said Thorne, glowering at me. "You are hereby confined to the brig of His Majesty's ship, the _Resolve_, until the verdict of your trial."

A long breathed leaked out of me as I heard the words… _verdict of your trial._ They were going to view my disturbance of the ship as a crime.

I bit my tongue as my lips quivered and saltwater surged to my blurring eyes. And Lieutenant Johnson gently prodded me forward, but I could not. I could not. My feet skidded across the rocky earth and the irons locked around my wrists suddenly felt immensely heavy. All I could see ahead of me was a blue sea and sky vanishing into the air and Thorne's figure leading the way back to the ship.

"Hold fast, Miss," I heard someone say. Was it Kempe? I wasn't quite sure. Sound had been deadened in my aching ears. "It's not over yet."

Something white appeared before my weeping face and after blinking a few times, I realized it was a handkerchief, and it was being offered to me by Johnson. "Thank you," I croaked, wiping my eyes.

"Keep your eyes clear," he said, pointing to several areas around me. "Focus on the land. It'll keep your mind off of things."

So I accepted his advice and examined the terrain of Cyprus. And I noticed the white, rocky beaches, bright green shrubs dotting the rocky earth, and a limpidness in the sea. Further inland stood a few trees, small and crooked—"Lemon trees," said Kempe—and I veered my vision up towards the sky and saw the thin traces of cloud, mixed with the atmosphere.

A bird flew overhead, small and with a mighty song.

"Would you look at that, Miss." Johnson's voice was suddenly full of calm surprise. "Kempe, look at that."

"Why, isn't that something, sir," laughed Kempe. He tapped my shoulder and I looked back up at the bird, confused over the excitement. "Have you ever seen such a sparrow, Miss?"

I paused and followed the flight of the bird with my eyes, and after some thought to myself and after making some silly wishes about Jack, I turned back to my bird-watching lieutenants and said:

"No, I haven't."

The nightmares began on the first night of my time in the brig. The hold of the ship was dark, dank and cool, and if one listened closely, a horde of tiny little feet could constantly be heard patting across the wooden floor. _So my companions will be rats and bilge water…_

A flimsy small cot was allowed in my cell for sleeping and resting purposes. It took up nearly half of the area's space, but it was better than sleeping on a rickety old bench—or worse, the wet, moldy floor. The sheets that covered it felt more like burlap and it was so kindly decorated with numerous holes. And to make things even better: it didn't even cover me all the way. My feet hung out in the cold.

Right above the cot was strewn a lantern, swinging from a hook in the ceiling. It shed a poor light, but it was enough to let me see my surroundings properly, and to also see the red-colored uniform of my guarding marine a few feet by, which meant that I was able to locate an essential part of my safety with ease.

My marine's name was Sergeant Vaughn, a man of thirty or so with a bad temper and a silence that was severely overbearing. Thorne was indeed very determined to give me the noose as to appoint the grumpiest marine out of the whole brigade as my guard. I even doubted that Sergeant Vaughn would guard me, for I was certain he'd rather have me lectured, beaten and punished for sneaking aboard a ship of men's territory.

_Well, damn you, Sergeant Vaughn._

Though, stupid as I was, I didn't consider that cursing and complaining would not do me any damn good. In fact, Sergeant Vaughn had damned good hearing and probably heard nearly every damn word I said about him behind his back, which would account for the reason why he treated me no better than a damn dog, and I was certain he didn't think of me as simply and directly as a _dog_. He probably used the other word in his head.

His dislike of me proved true when he had to speak to me for the first time, and what he said was, "Hey, tramp. Ye have a visitor, so get up off your bum and make yourself presentable." He released a muffled snarl at me, kicking my cell gate with his boot and causing a sequence of clamorous bangs to echo in my aching head. I knew I had not healed enough yet, for after just a few days in the brig, I began to feel even weaker than before.

I obeyed his command and stood up and dusted some dirt off of my trousers and tried to smooth out my hair. Though, I knew I still looked like a bawd from Tortuga. Plus, I doubted appearance would help me by now.

As I met the eyes of my visitor, I felt my heart twinge a bit, for I suddenly felt incredibly convinced that I had been pushed closer to my doom.

"Hello, Roland," I squeaked, coming closer to the bars of my cell gate.

"Hello, Astrid," he replied, seemingly just as worried as I was but was trying his best to hide his concern. "I, um, I have… some news about your case."

I gave him a nod, signaling that it was all right for him to go on with whatever he was having difficulty saying.

"Well, we're going to be leaving pretty soon and the captain's thought long and hard about whether or not he should have a trial for you, and…" He paused for such a long time that I thought my knees would give way and my legs would crumble before he opened his closed mouth again.

"Brother, please tell me what is going on." I swallowed, trying to keep myself from choking mid-sentence and attempting to speak as firmly and calmly as possible.

"Sister," he said, looking down and reaching through the gate and taking my hand.

"That's prohibited!" warned Sergeant Vaughn, rushing forward and about to rip Roland's hand from mine, but with a muttered curse, Roland withdrew his hand away before Vaughn got to it first.

"Sister," he began again, looking me in the eye. "He's decided to take your case as a crime. You will be tried just like any other criminal, and the ultimate result will either be deportation or the noose."

"What?" I gaped, feeling my worn face begin to contort and shudder uncontrollably. "No matter what they will get rid of me? I can't stay on the ship?"

"I'm sorry, sister… that's what I was told to tell you."

The tears had fallen fast from my eyes and the drops splattered to the ground, soaking the already damp wood. Roland tried to reach for my hand again, to comfort me in some way, but Vaughn hissed like a snake at him and so he could only stand and watch me wail until I was reduced to a rocking ball, sitting on the floor. Then, obviously unable to bear my cries, Roland left the brig hurriedly, brushing past Vaughn with a loud snort and slight shove.

_Everything is gone, Astrid… Gone, gone, gone. You're a dead man. And what about Jack?_

The realization that I had failed my mission so bluntly was like a dagger sent flying into my heart and I screamed all the more. I would lose everything I had gained. No ship. No friends. No brother. No Jack.

No… _freedom_.

I heard the boots of my marine echo towards my cell, and my fuzzy vision saw the vague shapes of his legs in front of my cell.

"Serves you right, whore," he spat. And then he turned around and marched back to his spot, standing so that I had nothing to look at but his pompous ass. But despite my anger and frustration, I knew that more men would follow his action and turn their backs on me.

My marine woke me with the clamor of a tray on the floor beside my brig cell. Distantly, I heard the ring of eight bells and so I concluded that it was noon or near to it and that most sailors were getting their meals at this hour.

Wearily, I lifted my head from my cot and stumbled over to the cell gate where the marine unlocked it and kicked my tray of food in before quickly locking me up again. I didn't look at his face. I didn't want to see the expression he gave me, for surely by his behavior he had the greatest disdain for my whorish self and without a doubt he should have looked upon me with such revulsion, for I had disgraced him, his rank, and his country with my presence.

My eyes stared dully at the bowl of burgoo seated on my tray. Accompanying it was a bottle of what I presumed to be ale, ale that had probably gone bad. But my mouth was numb and silent, afraid to utter a complaint. I had been shamed enough and these men were through with my requests. I'd get what I deserved.

"Eat," commanded Vaughn, and the authority I once felt as a midshipman, even a ship's boy, was now gone. I was a woman again, bound to the world through orders and directions issued by men, and to return to it—something I had tried so hard to escape from—was mortifying to me.

With shaking fingers, I grasped the spoon sticking out of the bowl of burgoo and plunged a lump of the porridge into my mouth. The slop was cold and tasteless, sticking like paste to the inside of my mouth and it thickly coated my throat as I swallowed with much reluctance.

Seeing that I had cooperated and commenced finishing my meal, my marine turned around and returned to his post, which was right below the hatch that led into the brig, making him a good deal away from me; a distance which I presumed he was happy to be at. After all, I was a woman, and no dignified man would want to interact with a conniving wench who belittled them all by bringing herself to equality with one of their peers. I would never understand the pride of men, and I would never accept their pride as an excuse for anything anymore.

The bottle happened to contain a very strong quantity of grog, and I took it that new rations were made now that we had captured another French ship and the Captain had most likely agreed to a larger part of rum as opposed to water in the new batch. Nonetheless, I drank it down to the last drop. There was no telling when I would be fed again, and I needed to take into consideration that I might not even live for another fortnight. In fact, I could be dead within two days' time, depending on how fast things went, and how eager the captain and his officers were to deal with my case.

And I was certain they were very ready to sentence me to death.

When I had eaten my fill, I took a rest back on my small cot and looked at the cold, crisscrossed iron bars of my cell. My marine said not a word, and I spoke not a word to him, for he wouldn't listen to me even if I spoke. I ran a finger over the rough edge of the metal and absorbed some of the chill from the bars and as I stared with blank, listless eyes at my finger scratching the post, I felt my prospects and expectations collapsing in a torrent of worries.

I had hit the bottom of the dark ocean again, trapped myself in the crushing black water that I had once loved with all my heart. I was lost again, not knowing who I was or what I'd be, or if I'd ever be of any good use. I had fought so hard, did my duty to the point where it became routine, and searched for every possible clue that could bring me to him. To Jack. But all my efforts were done in vain, for the fears I had hid away in the back of my head and gilded over in the sweetness of liberty had returned with new fire and spark that burned me inside. I thought I could make it through by disguising myself as a man. I thought no one would know. But I was a stupid girl when I thought up such a plot, and I was still stupid to think that it would last long enough for me to find my father. I did this all for him. Just to find him. Just to let him know that I loved him and loved the sea he loved more than me. But the freedom provided as soon as I donned men's clothing and assumed a masculine name proved too great for my small, simple mind to comprehend and use wisely. I relished the sweet taste of independence too much, and soon took advantage of what it had to offer me. I forgot why I had really come to sea, and I had gotten carried away with enchanting men and the possibility of gaining recognition as an officer in a Navy that now had only one wish for me—to kill me.

My body gradually tensed into a curled ball on the cot and my eye squeezed out a dirty tear from my glazed eye. I hadn't even found Jack. I would never be able to find him. He would forever remain lost from me, and if lost he remained, then I would never discover my own abilities. For his blood was my blood. His destiny was the same as mine. We both would die at sea, for we shared the same home as well. Only, the daughter he never knew would hang and die from the noose first.

I promised Will and Elizabeth that I would come back, and I wanted to return with Jack and a ship full of treasure and be able to run up to them and tell them that I did it. I made it. I reached Jack. I fulfilled my dreams. And they would be proud of me. I wouldn't disappoint them with my mistakes. I'd show them the golden glory of my achievements and we'd celebrate with much dancing and drinking, but no. No. None of that would ever happen now. Such imagined situations were cast away and lost to sea to become forgotten and laughed at.

I heaved a sob, which came out mixed with a cough and another tear dripped from my tightly closed eyes. I didn't want to see where I was at the moment. Not anymore. They had shamed me enough. They had torn away everything I had and called me a disgrace, a whore, a bitch, a temptress—any insult that their arrogant mouths could utter, and I was tired of it all. I had admitted to it all. I _was_ a disgrace, a whore, a bitch, a temptress. I was full of vices and I knew no good would come out of me. I was a bastard child to begin with and would remain one. Born from a mistake and prone to make them all my life with rarely any opportunity for redemption. And if deliverance was offered, others would swiftly find a way to crush me to the ground and take it for themselves.

My lungs racked another cry and I did my best to suppress it with a closed mouth, but it blubbered out anyway. Vaughn probably despised me more for crying like a woman was expected to, and probably contented himself by ignoring my echoing sobs. But some things were unstoppable. I couldn't stop the tears from falling. So hard. So hard. So hard. I had tried so _damn_ hard to get where I was and they had the nerve to take it away from me!

I expelled a choke as I inhaled the reeking air that stank of bilge water, and snot soon ran from my nose as I wept for the wrongdoing and punishment I had placed upon myself. I would never get to see Jack. Never. The father who never was would never be. Such beautiful dreams I had for my future. So many… and they were all thrown away.

_I'm so sorry, Jack. I'm so sorry, Daddy. I should have never been bad. You wouldn't have had to leave me in Port Royal and I wouldn't be in this situation, Daddy. I'd be with you. But now no. No, no, no. I'll never get to see you again. I'm sorry I couldn't find you. I tried so hard, Daddy. I really did. If only I had been more careful… oh to hell with it! Damn everything! Everything I had is gone, Daddy. All I wanted was to find you. Just to be back on the sea with you, but no. No one can understand that. No one._

_And Roland… oh God, dear brother. I'm so sorry I pulled you into this stupid adventure of mine. You have always looked out for me and gotten me out of my tight spots but dear brother, this one you can't help me with. I'm so sorry for getting angry with you, for not trusting you more, and I should have. I should have. Dammit, I bloody should have! And now look at me, Roland. Look at where I am now, and dear brother isn't here beside me anymore to guide me. Don't tell Mum and Dad what happened, Roland. They'd be heartbroken and I don't want to cause anymore trouble, dear brother. No, no, no. No more. Tell Mum and Dad I'm sorry for not coming back and for abandoning them. I never meant to. I thought I could find Jack, Roland, but no. It will never be, dear brother. No it won't. Never… never…_

I wept hysterically now, tears running down my face and smearing the dirt on my skin, and I could taste the saltiness of the water as the tears I shed leaked into the corners of my quivering mouth. My whole body convulsed from my sobs and my head swirled with hatred, shame, fear and memories that were vanishing into the air as everything I had worked for, everything I had loved was dimming into a dark oblivion, and I had tried desperately to cling to all of them and to clutch them with an iron grasp, but my strength was superficial and surreal. And these men who had trapped me in the dirtiest of places, with an atmosphere empty of care and sympathy, had reminded me of who I was and what I would forever be.

A disgrace, a whore, a bitch, a temptress, and the disappointment of all society.

Shame had sucked me dry, their expectations had left me boneless and ignorant, and now they had shoved a wall in my face and swung a rope around my neck to end the destruction I brought along with me and into their perfect world.

With a scream I kicked at the bars surrounding me and shrieked my frustration out of me, beating my fists at the cot and letting my tears dribble down my miserable face. _Dammit! Why can't you stubborn men listen! Listen, damn you! Listen!_

The deep thuds of Vaughn's boots echoed in the brig and he came to my cell and unlocked the gate before stomping in and ordering me to stop. I would not.

"This is for your own good, tramp," I heard him say before he knocked me unconscious with the back of his musket and locked me up in the darkness of my cell once again.

I shifted in my slumber as I gradually returned to the tangible world and away from the state of sleep my marine had forced me into. My eyelids pried open, flaking away the crust surrounding my eyes and I came face to face with an immense, close feeling darkness.

The room rang heavily with silence and I looked around, unable to see anything in the thick black, not even my own hands. My lantern had been blown out and I couldn't hear any sign of my marine. All I could take notice of was the soft steady sound of my breathing, but a feeling of anxiety and panic was tingling at my fingertips, and the suffocating darkness was elevating my fear and intimidation.

My instinct told me to sit up and feel my way around the cell and perhaps give a call out to my marine. Perhaps Vaughn was asleep and the lantern had blown out by a passing wind. But neither of my thoughts made sense. I would have heard Vaughn sleeping because I knew he snored as he dozed. And I was in the lowest level of the ship. Air could hardly move here, except in and out of one's nose. Someone had blown out my candle, and the fact that someone was in here with me sent a shock of panic through me.

My body jerked forward as I tried to sit up, but I was pulled back down immediately, for my hands were tied to the bars of my cell and were positioned over my head. As soon as I tried to sit up, the ropes strained my wrists and I was inclined to fall back, flat on my back to let my eyes wander with a sickeningly great amount of apprehension.

"Who's there?" I yelled, trying to wrench my wrists from the ropes, but whoever was in here was a clever bastard and tied them tightly. Sailors' knots. I tugged harder on the cords, pulling repeatedly with all my strength and causing the bars to shake a bit and rattle as I attempted to free myself, but the harder I pulled, the more the lines burned against my wrists. "Dammit," I breathed, trying to roll around on the cot so that I could sit up without breaking my arms.

But I didn't even get to move one muscle before a voice echoed in the frustrating dim.

"Funny, little Astrid," it snickered.

My body froze and the blood flowing in my body seemed to stop altogether and ice over, draining any warmth from my face. The provoking silence followed once again and my breathing faded from my ears and was slowly replaced with the fast pace of my beating heart. Cold sweat gathered around the edges of my forehead and dripped down my grey face as my mind raced to escape and free myself, for I was no longer safe in my current location.

Struggling now, I yanked viciously at the ropes, letting out exasperated cries and curses with every failed try. _Dammit. Get me out!_

There was the scrape of a foot against the dank floor, moving closer to me and without another word, I thought I heard something flop to the floor. Perhaps a discarded jacket or some other article of clothing. And now the fear I was experiencing was getting the better of me. My eyes were stinging with tears of worry and the muscles in my body tensed as if they prepared for some physical attack from an unseen foe.

The footsteps got louder and they reverberated in the empty brig, amplifying the fact the I was alone all the better, and suddenly, the footsteps stopped. In my futile effort to save myself I screamed into the blackness.

"Get out, bastard!" I wailed, still hopelessly heaving at the ropes to release me, but I was trapped in the dark; stuck in a cage underwater with a shark who was dangerously hungry for some prey, for the smell of blood coming from its victim's injures had whetted his appetite.

A shiver twisted up my spine and I shook violently at the touch of a hand on the side of my face, his thumb gently rubbing my jaw with growing heat. "Funny, little Astrid," he repeated, still chuckling. "The wild, beautiful wench who enchanted me with her presence three years ago. Has it been so long, Astrid?" His hot breath smeared my cheek with perspiration as I felt his nose chafe against my temple.

I jerked my head away from him, ripping my face from his grimy fingers and resumed trying to pry apart my wrists from the ropes, but my intruder was far from finished with me. Before my disgruntled visage appeared his own, and the only reason why I knew he stood right in front of me was because of the white flicker that I thought I saw spark in his savage blue eyes, and even in such dense blackness his eyes continued to attain that eerie glow.

As if unleashed from his bonds, his hand launched out and snatched my chin, heaving it towards his face and stopping my face from colliding into his by less than a hair. "Lie down, Astrid," he commanded, his breath coming short and shallow, but I wasn't so stupid as to fall for such a trick and I persisted onward with my sitting for barely a second before he pushed me back on the cot and crawled on top of me, hovering above me as his arms kept his body a good foot away from mine.

"Get off me, ye bastard," I growled, trying to sit up, but my arms were once again positioned over my head and I couldn't sit up without rolling onto my side.

"You should be enjoying this, Astrid," he chuckled, lowering himself just slightly onto me, supporting himself on one arm as his other wandered to my neck.

His fingers were clammy with sweat as they stuck to my neck, and for all his cruelty and indestructible pride, his hand was not as coarse and dry as I expected it to be. And his touch made me gulp down my fear, for one thing continued to blink in my mind. I was scared to death of what he was going to do to me.

He seemed to sigh with content as his hand felt my gulp travel down my throat and he must have been intoxicated with the internal movement of my body, for he lowered himself completely on me, digging his face into my neck as he sucked in breath after breath now that he had caught the scent of his prey.

I squirmed under his weight, trying desperately to move my knee in between his legs so I could ram it straight into him, but his legs were circling around mine, grazing against me with excited force.

My arms moved wildly above my head, my elbows trying to aim for his head in an attempt to get him off, but nothing was working, and I was growing sicker to my stomach with every finger he laid on my body.

"Stop it, Griffith!" I screamed, mustering my strength to push him off, but I was too weak. I was so stupid to have strained my arms and wasted some of my energy by trying to pull myself free of the ropes. Now, I was trapped under Victor Griffith's gruesome person.

"I think not, Astrid," he grinned, lifting his head from my neck and looking directly at me, his hand wandering from my neck down to my breastbone, where it lingered and impatiently clawed at any exposed skin. "You're mine for a night."

That phrase ruptured my patience and I thrashed madly beneath him, screaming my lungs out, but my strength was no match for his unconquerable wanton desire. His legs pressed against mine with such might, that he had pushed me _into_ the cot, and his arms had grabbed hold of my own in an iron clutch and shoved them over my head.

"Roland!" I cried, craning my neck away from his face as I found myself completely vulnerable to his advances. "Ben—" His mouth crashed into mine and he nearly swallowed my lips as he kissed me, a hungry groan vibrating from his throat. Screams were let out of my mouth but they were crushed and left to clog up my throat as his tongue delved deeper in.

He finally allowed me to breath, breaking the kiss and looking at me as water leaked out of my eyes with no will to stop. I could feel my lips throbbing and grow hot from the abuse inflicted upon them and caught in between sobs I managed to speak to him. "Please, Griffith, stop. Don't do this to me. Don't hurt me."

"Relax," he sang tauntingly, licking his already slimy lips, "I'm not going to hurt you." I shook my head at him but he only smirked and I knew he wasn't listening to me.

He lowered his head beside mine, and he moaned with satisfaction into the side of my face, his tongue slithering down my cheek.

There was the same shuffle of steps before, though this time, they were considerably faster, perhaps even excited. And same as before, a hand went to touch my face. Only, this time, it was accompanied by a kiss on my cold, dead cheek.

But unlike before, there was no eager snicker or moan. There was a relieved, content sigh that escaped into the air. My hands had been released, my wrists bleeding from incessant burn of the rope and still he stood beside my cot, looking at me with a sickening smile on his face.

He bent over and ran his fingers down my face, and then stood upright again, pleased with whatever he had observed from that last touch.

And then silently, Victor Griffith left, fully garbed and poised as if nothing had happened.

Yet, I lay on my cot, paralyzed and numb, with salt water dried at the corners of my eyes and my heartbeat slowing. There, in that position, in the darkness of my cell, my nightmares replayed repeatedly in my mind. And after staring blankly at the cell bars, I curled up into a tight ball again and looked down at myself.

Then I cried.

_Dear caged bird, why do you weep?  
What villain has locked you in there to keep?  
How is it that your wings are broken so?  
Why is it that you, dear bird, didn't know?_

_Dear caged bird, what sorrows do you sing?  
What villain has ruined your precious wing?  
How is it that darkness covers your eyes?  
Why is it that you, dear bird, sing of lies?_

_Dear caged bird, oh why do you weep?  
What villain has tarnished your peaceful sleep?  
How is it that you can no longer defend?  
Why is it that you, dear bird, are… broken…?_


	25. Hereafter

_Chapter 25: Hereafter_

"**A**strid?"

I did not answer. My mind was still entirely under the impression that I was filthy and whorish, and I would not—_could_ not—open my mouth and speak. For along with my stolen virtue, it appeared as though my own voice was robbed away from me, along with every other progress I had made.

My name was repeated in the dark, and still I did not budge. I even contemplated the worth of breathing. No man would want to marry a spoiled woman, whose heart and soul had been corrupted and defiled by the horrors and lusts of rich bastards. All my thoughts kept running back to what Griffith had done to me, the images renewed endlessly in my head, and I still wanted to cry and scream even after the assault was complete.

The voice in the gloom heightened with frustration and the vaguest insinuation of concern, and although I knew the apprehensions of my visitor would only elevate, I remained reticent. For if anything was going to come out of my mouth, it would be a shriek of anguish, and that would not answer any of the questions my visitor had in mind.

I heard the 'creak' of my cell gate opening, and again, the memory of Griffith sneaking in so slyly raced to my head and it instigated the scream I had kept lodged in my throat.

"Astrid!" There was the hastening of footsteps and everything that was happening was only processed in my head as a connection to Griffith's demented mission, and I cried all the louder.

More footsteps followed and the familiar fear crawled up my spine again and I edged towards the far side of my jail cell, huddled in a weeping ball.

"Why's it so dark?" I heard someone say.

"Light the lantern," ordered another.

"Where the _hell_ is her marine?" a voice complained.

A dim glow suddenly appeared above my cot and I looked around frantically, meeting the faces of my brother, Bennett, Dobbin and Andre.

"Sister," said Roland, approaching me. I squealed and backed away farther, and he made his own retreat, his face grimacing with confusion.

I noticed the wide, fierce blue eyes of Bennett in the low light of the lantern and his jaw was tight and his eye looked to be on the verge of twitching. The stare he was giving even had me wonder if he was even looking at me. His mind seemed distant—already gone before I knew it.

"Astrid, what happened?" asked Dobbin. Both Roland and Andre looked at him, wondering the same thing but afraid to probe me any further for fear of me screaming again.

My eyes stayed on Bennett, and I knew he'd understand first. I just didn't know how he'd react to it.

"He did it," growled Bennett, clenching his fist. His eye finally made that twitch and he pushed through Roland, Dobbin and Andre as he stormed out of the cell gate.

"Who did?" wondered Andre.

"_I'm going to kill that son of a bitch!_" shouted Bennett ferociously. I heard the ring of metal, and I buried my head in my arms as I imagined Bennett unsheathing his sword and raging up to the upper decks.

Roland was next to attain that wide and inevitably angry stare, and he turned to me, kneeling beside my cot with a look in his eyes that said, "He did _not,_ sister. Oh God, he _did. _He did. That _bastard_!"

"Come, sister," he said tonelessly. "We need to get you to Cavanaugh. _Now_."

"Roland, no, _please_…" It was too late. He picked me up gently and carried me out of my cell, and I knew that he knew that such an action could earn him a great deal of punishment.

"Dob, go ahead and tell the captain what's happened. Newton, tell Cavanaugh to clear his surgeon's pit. We have an emergency."

The boys saluted their, "Aye, sir," and went their separate ways. I clung to Roland, sobbing, "Sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry…" He might have not answered me for fear of making me shed more tears, but his demeanor told me that he understood and that he was hoping that Bennett would give Griffith his long awaited brutal beating.

But all I honestly wanted in that moment was to be with Jack, on his ship and sailing for the horizon. And despite such a wonderful dream, doubt had seated itself comfortably in my head, and while Roland told me to stay strong, I could only think and ask the Heavens, _Why?_

I didn't believe that they would send an answer, for they had ignored my please for years. And how was it that as soon as I became acquainted with the magnificent blue main, that Fate had the sick inclination to filch any treasured progress I had owned from me? What wrong had I done to deserve it all?

I became restless with the questions, sick from Griffith's touch, and tired of this journey, but my heart still withheld a constant beat, telling me that I was still alive for some odd reason, and I was still convinced that the reason was to find Jack, and so that dream gradually flickered with new light, however brief it was. _I will find you, Jack. I will… and then I'll never leave…never._

As we moved up to the orlop deck, Roland barked out orders as harshly as Thorne would. "Move!" he'd shout at the sailors blocking his path to the surgeon's pit. The tired eyes of the sailors widened with surprise at my sight, and all I could do was stare at them dully, neither amazed nor afraid of the awe and concern on their faces.

From ahead, we saw Cavanaugh running towards us, his brow creased with concern. "What's happened?" he demanded, removing my burdensome weight from my brother's arms and carrying me to the operating table.

"She's been hurt," answered Roland simply, trailing right behind Cavanaugh.

"Hurt?" questioned Cavanaugh. "Has she been cut?"

"No," said Roland quietly, almost as a murmur. "She's been _hurt_. Well, something else of hers has been damaged. That's all I'll say." Brother found it difficult to speak about the subject because his fist had clenched and his face was growing red from either anger or embarrassment of having to talk about such a tender topic.

I noticed Cavanaugh stop moving for a second in response to Roland's basic description of what happened to me, and he seemed to take the time silent to decode what Roland had just said. And he wouldn't have been a very good doctor if he didn't get it, and so obviously, Cavanaugh knew exactly what Roland was talking about.

"I must check her, Mister Turner. It will not take long. But I ask that you put up this screen around the operating table, for I will not have all these other sailors watching what I do as I do not want Miss Sparrow to be violated any further."

Brother went and took the screen and assembled it around the area and Cavanaugh ordered him to keep watch should some stupid bloke barge in to take a peep.

"I'm so sorry, Miss," said Cavanaugh as he proceeded with my check up. I didn't say anything. Nothing at all.

When my inspection came to a close, Roland asked from outside the screen, "Is she all right? Is she really…?" He gulped and was never able to finish his question.

"Has the captain been informed about this, Mister Turner?"

"Yes, he has. Or should have. Mister Lester was in charge of it."

A jumble of heavy footsteps disrupted the quiet atmosphere of the orlop deck and Thorne entered, blood in his eye and looking as if he was about ready to kill somebody. And if he had not been trained to contain his ire, I would have not been surprised if he lashed out and murdered the first helpless soul in sight.

"Where's the surgeon?" he bellowed. He was given his answer by one of the sailors and the deep thuds of his boots neared, and Roland parted the screen and went to get me, but Thorne had seen him do it.

"Get her out of here!" he ordered, and Roland gratefully picked me back up and backed away from Thorne.

More footsteps followed and a fairly large mass of men had come down to the orlop deck, flowing in the direction of the surgeon's pit.

"What seems to be the problem, Lieutenant Thorne?" asked Cavanaugh coolly, not liking the disruption very well. He wiped his spectacles with the ends of his shirt before placing them back on his nose and eyeing the white-wigged man with a fierce glower.

"A fight. Broke out between two stupid mids. One's nose is bleeding and the other has a bad eye. Neither of them was good enough to gut the other with a sword."

A whisper escaped me at the news. _Bennett…_

Thorne's eyes locked on Roland and me. "I told you to get her out! Put her back in the brig!"

Roland's hold on me had become so tight that his fingernails dug into my skin and I was afraid that he'd drop me and lunge towards Thorne himself. But he didn't. His grip gradually relaxed and he left, carrying me back to the brig where Sergeant Vaughn had miraculously returned and was waiting for me.

Sleep had become impractical and worthless, for in allowing myself to surrender to the perpetual harmony of beguiling slumber, I would not only be leaving myself susceptible to more marring defilement, but I would also be allowing my mind to be disturbed by hellish, ominous nightmares. And to tell the truth, as much as I professed to be capable of unwavering courage, I forbade myself to confront such fears. To suffer with them would have been the honorable thing to do. But I had lost any honor I had had, which was little to begin with, and I had accepted the fact that slumber was no longer a comfort of mine.

As much as we despised each other, Vaughn never left his post, which was significantly closer to my cell than before, and I never bothered him with irksome whining and tears. He did not do it out of sympathy; I knew that. I believed he appeared to be more careful because he blamed himself partly for my deflowering, but more so because a recorded rape in a ship's book put a bad mark on her men, which would mean another smack of pride for the cocky bunch of the crew, with Vaughn as no exception.

Speaking would have been superfluous, and so I remained mute as the hours passed, left without a clue as to what was happening in the decks above and left to ponder the progression of my trial—a trial that had already begun and would probably end without a word from my mouth. My word was considered false.

The only way in which I was able to keep track of time was through the distant bongs of the bells that signaled a change in watches. We had passed the Afternoon Watch, which meant that my supper should have been coming to me, but I doubted that I'd be fed. I had already asked for too much when I stepped on board this blessed vessel as a boy. They probably wondered why I wasn't content with my own gender, as that was how God made me. But it wasn't as if I was going to stay a boy forever. I just needed the disguise long enough to find Jack, and then it'd be back to girl. But disguising myself only brought up another question for these men to contemplate. It indicated that I was sinister enough to deceive Man's brilliant mind and also that I thought them stupid so as to fall for my trick.

But they'd never know that I intended none of that. After all, now that they had robbed me of the liberties that came with being a male, they expected me to return to the ways of a lady. And, mind you, ladies never spoke at inappropriate times.

So I was left to remain mute and stupid.

My predictions were correct, and indeed, no meal came down for me as the day drew on, and we were now into the First Watch, with the cloak of night draping over the sky and soothing the ocean waves in a momentary rest. And all the while, my mind continued to delve and scurry into unchecked possibilities, assessing, speculating, and worrying endlessly until the rapid movement of my thoughts spurred a throbbing headache to pulse against my skull. The anguish was beginning to take its toll on me, and I deemed that my heart would stop if my worries were found to be of heavy worth.

My eyes desired to cast tears, to release my sorrow in waves of salt water, but I had no more tears to give away. My eyes were dry and itchy, rubbed red and bruised purple from the continuous distress I was bullied to accept. And the only other feeling I could honestly identify in my state of unfathomable trepidation was fatigue. As my spirit deteriorated in this dark, dank cage, so did my very body. But I would not succumb to sleep. No. I could not and would not fall into another trap.

But my eyes were persuaded by pressurizing anxiety and were gradually closing, only to be awakened at the sound of the hatchway to the brig opening.

I sat up, wiping my eyes and inching towards my cell gate to see who had come down.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't have you spend that long a time with her," I heard Vaughn say, shockingly more polite than I had ever heard him speak to me.

"That's all right. You are dismissed," replied the visitor, and I smiled with relief at the voice. _My dear Bennett…_

"E-Excuse me, sir?" squawked Vaughn, and I could imagine his old face wrinkled in utter surprise.

"You heard me. Lieutenant Kempe, Sergeant Vaughn is up for the First Watch. Please call down Private Donne to act in his stead."

"Certainly, Mister Bennett," replied Kempe from above the hatchway, and Vaughn had no choice but to follow the lieutenant's orders and stomp up the hatchway and to the orlop deck above. A smaller, leaner frame came down shortly after, and I judged that he was the mentioned Private Donne.

"Where shall I stand, sir?" I heard him ask Bennett.

"Right below the entrance, Mister Donne."

"Aye, sir."

Bennett then moved towards my cell, removing his fore-and-aft hat from his head and then kneeling directly in front of my gate, and in the dim light of the lantern strung above my cot, I could see his face through the bars and I came forward eagerly, as close as I could to him.

"Bennett…" I whispered, gazing up at his face. And the gentle smile he returned to me was enough to send my worries leagues away from my mind, and at once, I felt an incredible amount of comfort embrace me.

"Astrid," he said, reaching through the cell gate and touching my face. "I'm sorry." As his coarse fingertips grazed my cheeks and as his apology met my ears, I could no longer control my grief and I began to weep, holding his hand as he continued to hold my trembling chin.

"No, no," I sobbed. "Don't apologize; you couldn't have seen this coming. It's all my fault, Bennett."

"Astrid, please. Don't cry. I hate to see you weeping so hysterically." Fear for me sparked in his eyes and he looked desperate to come into my cell and hold me properly, but inside I could tell he was cursing himself for not watching over me as well as he thought he could have. But he could not have known that this would ever happen. The possibility was always present, but no one was certain of me being discovered.

"I-I c-can't s-stop, B-Bennett," I wept, now hiccupping as I strained my lungs for an inconsistent intake of air.

"Astrid," repeated Bennett, his voice growing firmer as he tried to tame my yowls. He even reached through the gate and took my hands in his and thus compelled me to look straight at him despite the tears dribbling down my face. "Look at me, Astrid. Look at me." I uneasily rested my gaze on him. "Relax. Please." I hesitantly quieted and my breathing pattern became softer and more regular, which was enough for him to relax himself as well.

"Why have you come down here, Bennett?" I asked, leaning my forehead against the bars of my cell gate and watching him intently.

"Because I love you," he explained, smirking at me. My response was only a thin, timid smile, but just his being there was enough to keep my hopes up for a little while. "And I've already given my testimony for your trial."

"How did it go? For you, I mean."

"Rather smoothly, I suppose. I defended you as well as I could without giving too much away about the relationship I have with you." My grin widened, and I relished the smile he returned for seeing me show some of my happiness again at the words he said. "Your brother and Dobbin should be coming down shortly. They were being interrogated as I left."

"Is there any hope for me, Bennett?" I posed cautiously, shifting my vision to the floor and noting the wet, dirty wood I sat on so carelessly. "And don't say there was always hope for me," I added. "I want to know if there is hope based on what you saw during the trial."

"Well," he began, tilting his head to the side and downward a bit so that he'd catch my glance again without me having to look up. I tried to elude his stare with a satisfied turn of my head but he followed, and now giving up on his game, I fixed my vision on his bright blue eyes and waited patiently for him to finish. "It's progressing fairly; generally, that is. The crew is a bit divided in their allegiances, for there are those who support the opinions of Thorne, Griffith, and Vaughn, but there are also other crew members who share your brother's, Dobbin's and Andre's claims about you."

"I don't want conflict," I remarked, but Bennett hushed me with a finger to my lips before I could continue with what I had planned on saying.

"I know you don't, but it's too late to change any of that. Captain Carlisle will be up late interviewing several crewmembers and coming up with a resolution. He said his decision will be made by dawn." I moaned at the deadline. I had prayed for at least one day more but now my fate would be sealed at the rising of the sun.

"Will…" I paused and turned back to Bennett, holding his hands more tightly and eventually kissing his hand before I spoke again. "Will you stay with me until then?"

"I have the Middle Watch, Astrid," he said solemnly, and I would have cried again if he had not slipped his hand from mine and reached for my head, running his hand through my hair. "But I'll stay as long as I can."

"Thank you, love," I said, resting my head on the cell bars again. Then, closing my eyes and taking in a large breath, I whispered, "Will you sing to me, Bennett?" And I could already picture him smiling genuinely at the request.

"Of course, Astrid," he answered, clearing his throat afterwards and then softly singing:

"_As William and Mary walked by the sea-side,  
Their last farewell to take,  
_'_Should you never return, young William,' she said,  
_'_My poor heart will surely break.'_

'_Be not dismayed,' young William he said,  
As he pressed the dear maid to his side,  
_'_Nor my absence don't mourn, for when I return,  
I will make little Mary my bride'…"_

"Sir?" interrupted Private Donne apprehensively, taking a step forward.

"Yes, Mister Donne?" returned Bennett, reluctantly facing the novel marine.

"There are few mids asking for entrance down here. Shall I let them in?"

"Yes, please," I answered, before Bennett could even open his mouth again. I gripped the bars of my gate and stood up, looking at Donne gravely. "Please let them in."

"Aye, Miss," he replied, saluting at me despite my current position. Dear Private Donne was more of a gentleman than his superior, Vaughn, would ever be.

He opened the hatchway and Roland descended from above, with Dobbin trailing behind with a bit of suppressed difficulty, as his lower left leg was missing entirely and he leaned on a crutch. Nevertheless, his determination to come down and to suffer through all the trouble of moving around for my sake revealed the noble naval lineage he had contained within his blood as the son of an admiral.

"Hullo, Astrid," greeted Dobbin, flashing his beloved cheeky grin at me.

"Ahoy there, Dob. Hello, Roland," I responded, giving them the same forced and pathetic smile I had shown Bennett. But it was a smile nonetheless.

"You all right, sister?" asked Roland, coming to the gate and looking down at me. I nodded.

"Hell, can Thorne really ask some bloody impertinent questions," commented Dobbin with a rub of his head, and Bennett gave me his all-knowing look as if to say that he agreed fully with what dear Mister Lester had said.

"He did. He basically probed me down until I was talking about pirate games I played with you," contributed Roland with a shake of his head. "I hate that man. If I ever have the chance to skewer him without punishment, you can be sure as hell that I'll be the first to ram him through with my sword."

"Me second," finished Dobbin.

"Gut him all you want," chuckled Bennett as he joined in on the mock plot for revenge. "Just let me have Griffith."

The lads enjoyed a small circle of murmured laughs while I still could find no will to chortle at the subject. As much as I wanted Griffith to pay dearly for what he had done to me, there still would be no way to get back what he stole. But I wouldn't let the nightmare occupy my thoughts any further. At that moment, the results of my trial were the most important. Not revenge.

"How did the trial go as you testified?" I questioned, bringing the brains of my boys back to the main predicament. All three of their heads whisked towards me, re-alerted at the gravity of my position and conforming their visages to the limits of dark melancholy.

"Divided," responded Roland, summing up the whole trial for me in one word. _Would the entire crew remain separated over me? _"There were just as many men influenced by Griffith, Thorne, and Lonan as there were affected by us. We did our best, sister. There's still Andre, and you know he's gained his reputation among the other sailors. You still have your chances."

"It's true," shared Bennett, coming forward and leaning his elbow against my cell gate. "Andre's voice is that of the majority, for as we well know, there are far more sailors than officers."

"But so is Lonan's," brought in Dobbin, almost spoken as a forbidden whisper. "And who's the more experienced seaman? Sullivan. Lonan's going to override Andre's testimony."

"Don't say that, Dob," interjected Roland, shooting a look at Dobbin for speaking so despondently. "Andy's the more popular one, and he has a clean record too. No fights. No threats. Nothing. Captain Carlisle, if he is as true to his word as he claims, _must_ take Andre's word over Lonan's."

The three of them continued to bicker and discuss the future outcome of my trial outside of my cell gate, becoming so heated in the argument that I assumed that they had forgotten that I was still in my cell listening to them. But the points they arose _were_ completely valid. My trial was still straddling the fence, and my life was getting tugged back and forth between innocence and condemnation.

"So the verdict will come at dawn?" I asked, interrupting their crescendo of impassioned debate.

The trio returned their disheartened eyes to me, and Bennett was the first who bravely nodded. "As far as I've been told, Private Donne will wake you, chain you back in irons, and then lead you up to the top deck. All members of the crew not on watch will be there to witness your verdict, and I'm not sure if any of us will be able to see you one more time before you are led up."

The steps Bennett described to me were played out in my head, and I watched myself walking up to the deck and facing all of those solemn, serious, expressionless faces all by my lonesome self. Such a situation would be unbearable, and I feared that I'd faint before I even reached the deck.

"That's how it goes?" I said, blinking away more tears, and Bennett nodded. "All right," I squeaked, gathering more air into my lungs as I calmed myself. "All right."

"Brave girl, sister," smiled Roland, coming to my gate and sticking his arms through the bars and embracing me. "It's not the end."

"Never is," added Dobbin with a wink at me. "Long live the Jackaroe."

The moaning 'creak' of a door hinge woke me, and I sprang up from my cot with a start, the memory of Griffith sneaking in flashing before my eyes. But my eyes opened to the sight of a well-lit cell, my lantern still burning brightly and only a few shadows lurking in the far corners of the brig.

"Miss?" came Private Donne's voice. I heard him behind me, and his voice reached my ears on a timid air.

I turned and faced him, and he looked down as he saw my alarmed visage. I was angry that I had fallen asleep when I told myself I wouldn't. All I remembered was Bennett, Roland and Dobbing staying with me until the Middle Watch, reminiscing the good times on board the ship and causing me to cry involuntarily. But the memories were good and comforting, making me laugh more at times rather than weep. Andre and my dear ship's boys had come down as soon as soon as my mids were called up for their watch, and together we mused over our own special moments on board the majestic _Resolve_. But alas, they too had to leave, and it was when I was left bereft of their company did I fall into the luring arms of sleep.

"It's time, Miss," Donne reiterated, standing at the entrance of my open cell gate, equipped with a pair of irons in his hands.

I nodded and got up from my cot, walking up to him with my arms extended limply. He trapped my wrists in the heavy iron rings and hesitantly took hold of my arm as he led me forward. I swallowed breath after breath as I tried to suppress the wild beat of my heart, but the sound ultimately ended up ringing in my ears and muffling all other sound that I almost didn't hear Private Donne's next command.

"Please follow me, Miss," he said, walking out of the cell and turning his head back to check to see if I was doing as I was told. I trailed behind him with miserable steps that dragged across the deck.

Up we went through the orlop and gun deck, then through the upper deck. Each deck was abandoned, with no human soul present at all, creating the impression that the ship swayed and rocked at the doing of a phantom and his ghostly crew. For indeed, all that could be seen or heard were the polished bones of the ship and the sound of bending wood against the calm sea.

Private Donne paused under the hatchway leading to the waist, and he looked back at me. "You ready, Miss?" he asked. The corners of my mouth trembled as water swelled in my eyes, and I shook my head at him, the tears splashing onto my hands swiftly, like the beginning drizzle of a torrential storm.

"Come now, Miss. Your mates are waiting for you right above. You are allowed one last greeting with them." When I heard him say that, I thought he was joking. Was I really so blessed as to see my mates once again? Private Donne spoke with such innocence and firmness that I was convinced it was true, and I raised my head and wiped my nose and eyes with the sleeve of my shirt before nodding to him.

He smiled back at me briefly before fixing his face back into the expressionless, passive countenance trademark of marines before announcing our arrival. The hatchway was opened by some familiar faces that winked down at me and we headed up, and I was met with the blinding white light of morning, the sky already in the process of changing from violent to pale yellow and limpid blue. But it wasn't just nature that amazed me manifestly. On all sides of the ship, starboard and larboard, high up in the rigging and yards, centered on the poop deck, quarterdeck and forecastle—all around me, were the watchful, curious faces of the_Resolve's_ blessed crew. Their white trousers, shirts striped in navy blue, and indigo kerchiefs fastened at their broad shoulders appeared defined and ubiquitous, reminding me of who had accompanied me on this long and terrible journey on the wretched, powerful ocean. They were the men who loved me, hated me and would hereafter decree if my life was either worth saving or deserving of death.

Silence lied heavy upon them, permitting me to listen only to the soft whispers of the sea to the waiting, gentle wind that blew back and forth around me, kissing my face only to whack me on the head from behind—a false advocate like his friend, the ocean; an ocean that had ensnared me in her fraudulent promises only to reveal to me a life that was plagued with the bitter saltiness of blood and death. This ocean, the ocean I had admired and loved so tenderly as a child, the same ocean that Jack lived upon and relied on; this ocean, this powerful ocean… was to be nothing but my woe.

And yet…

Even as death danced upon my shoulders, and even as caustic men damned me secretly within their thinking skulls, I could not help but remain one with the sea. Even if she had scorned me and robbed me of everything I had gained, her presence had become embedded into my veins, and no matter what happened, I understood that I could not and would not leave her.

A gentle tug on my sleeve from the side drew me away from my fleeting thoughts and there Bennett stood, looking down at me, his mouth straight and silent but his eyes glimmering with hope. At that moment, I didn't care if the whole crew was watching. I didn't care if what I was about to do was forbidden and punishable by death. I didn't care anymore. I would do what I wanted and not one soul would dare stop me.

I flung my arms over his head and around his neck, embracing him as I never had before, and I could hear the gasps and mutters weaving through the crew, but this was my moment. I would not have it ruined by their scorns. He happily returned my embrace, lifting me up off the ground and slipping his hand under my chin as he angled his head to kiss me. And he left me with such a kiss that put all the others to shame.

He set me down carefully, and Roland was next to come up to me, hugging me before I even had the chance to hold him first, and he whispered in my ear, "Don't worry, Astrid. Don't worry, sister. We're with you."

I kissed his cheek and mouthed, "I love ye, brother," before I went to give my farewells to Dobbin, Andy and my ship's boys, each of which I left with an embrace and a friendly kiss on the cheek or forehead.

Then Donne took my arm again and led me to the quarterdeck, where Captain Carlisle, the lieutenants, the warrant officers, and the rest of the midshipmen were positioned in strict orderly fashion. Carlisle sat at a table brought out on deck, his face grim and his sea green eyes ever observant and keen. Thorne stood directly by his side, glowering at me and Johnson and Kempe stood behind their captain, still and unreceptive.

"Astrid "Jack" Sparrow," voiced Carlisle sternly as he read from a piece of parchment before him. "Be it known that you have been charged for your willful commission of crimes against the Crown and His Majesty's navy. Said crimes being the following violations against Articles Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty-two, and Twenty-seven of the Articles of War. You have been charged and convicted of engaging in and or influencing mutinous activity, for behaving with contempt to a superior officer, for failing to report traitorous or mutinous practice or design, for quarrelling with a superior officer, and for sleeping upon your Watch and neglecting appointed duty."

I cast my eyes to the floor, knowing that everything I was accused of was rightfully justified. I _had_ been the source of bad blood on the ship, and I _had_ failed to report the rising tensions amongst the crew to a superior officer. I understood that I did nothing to stop it and became involved in the bad blood myself, which led me to show contempt for Griffith openly. My fight with Roland, however, was personal, and I had almost forgotten that it was witnessed by Mister Sumner and a third of the crew, and I had slept on Watch only _once_. Once. I did not find one offense enough to condemn me. But any of my rebuttals were halted, for my sentence was being announced.

"And for these crimes," declared Carlisle, his eyes moving off of the paper and onto me as I stood in the middle of the quarterdeck, alone in my defense, "you have been sentenced, on this day…"

The beat of my heart had intensified rapidly, my body felt spineless and frail, and my mind felt confused and lost. I even thought that my heartbeat had become the speedy drumbeat always played as we Beat to Quarters, but it was not. It was not. This heartbeat was mine, full-blooded, frantic, and strained.

Captain Carlisle's voice never finished his statement. Instead, he began again, lowering the parchment from his hands and rising, his eyes still on me.

"Astrid Sparrow, you have been sentenced, on this day…"

I held my breath.

"… to hang until dead…"


	26. Anne Flint

_Chapter 26: Anne Flint_

"_May God have Mercy on your soul..._"

My knees gave way under my weight, and I expected to hit the hard deck with an unceremonious _thud_, but two pairs of arms kept me from falling and dragged me backwards, towards the foremast. And I could already see the men aloft in the rigging swinging the noose over the yardarm for my head to be squeezed through.

Desperately, I tried to break my arms free from the clutch of the two marines who were hauling me like a piece of luggage up to my grave. Where the hell had Donne gone? The two marines pulling me along were older and, honestly, more on Thorne's side rather than Justice's, and so what option was left for me but to kick and scream and attempt to bite at their hands to let me go?

Men filled up the Waist as their heads looked up in unison at the yardarm from which I'd hang, and as I followed their awed, fearful stares, my own eyes grew wide with terror. _Dear God… this is it!_

"_Roland!_" I shrieked, my heels stumbling across the deck as I tried to push my end at bay, but nothing was working. Every second that passed brought me closer and closer to the daunting yard that only continued to grow in height and breadth as we neared, and the sinister little noose that hung loosely, eagerly waiting to choke me.

"_Bennett!_" I flailed my limbs like a madman now, tossing my head back and forth and screaming like a banshee as my eyes welled with tears.

"Silence her!" demanded Thorne, following my procession with much sickening gladness on his face. _The bastard._

The marines came to a halt and spun me around, only to clog my mouth shut with a gag. I almost had the opportunity to bite one of the marine's hands, but he was too quick. _Dammit_. I was seized again and heaved back towards my destination, and now I couldn't force a wail out of me. If I did, the cloth in my mouth would choke me and I'd only quicken my unfortunate demise.

"Stop this!" I heard someone say.

_Dear God, I don't know what I'd do without you, dear brother…_

"_What_ did you say, Mister Turner?" Thorne had heard the shout of disapproval and had turned hotly on his heel, fists clenched and footsteps inching towards Roland with a savage punishment waiting to burst.

"Stop this!" Roland repeated, holding his ground, his right hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his side. "This punishment is extreme! She does not deserve this fate and you know it!"

Thorne uttered not a word, and I could no longer see what was going on as the men had switched their attentions off of me and onto the feud between my brother and their violent First Lieutenant. But I could tell that steam was about ready to shoot out of Thorne's nose and ears, and my fear slowly shifted from my hanging to what possible fate lied for my brother. And now Roland had turned to the captain, understanding where true honest leadership and reasoning stood.

"Captain, you must end this madness! Look at her! Look at what she has done! Can you not remember her progress? She is a midshipman for God's sake! You promoted her yourself! Does she deserve this after what she has done for you and for your ship!"

"Such disreputable lies, you mutineer," sneered Thorne. "Sir, she has caused much turmoil on this ship and she has disgraced every single man on board with her very presence!"

"_Disgrace_!" scoffed Roland. "What _disgrace_ has she done? She has saved lives! She has led these men with just as strong a heart and stomach as any notable and worthy officer! I see no disgrace, you murderous fiend. _I see no disgrace at all_!"

Murmurs swerved around the men, and my heartbeat began to steady with the reviving hope that I'd live out this day. _Please, God, please…_

Thorne said nothing in response. His argument had now grown weak, and his absence of a remark gave way to Captain Carlisle to speak, miraculously on my behalf.

"Get her back here, Thorne. I will not hang her."

"Are you mad, sir!" screeched Thorne. "How dare you go back on your word!"

"Thorne, those are orders. Bring her back this instant!" Thorne had become indignant and I heard the gasps and curses directed towards him as he broke away from the crowd back towards me. And I knew as soon as I saw him again that he had no intention whatsoever to obey his captain at all.

He stole me away from the marines and chaos plagued the crew. Men rushed forward, protesting the blatant show of deliberate disobedience, but Thorne could have cared less. He wanted me to die, and he wouldn't rest until I hung limply from the noose.

"Thorne!" bellowed Carlisle, racing after the impudent lieutenant with Johnson and Kempe following from behind. He did not listen and only continued to drag me towards the foremast.

_Oh God, help me…_

"STOP THAT MAN!"

He was almost at the ratlines and I struggled all the harder to get away from his lunacy. _Oh, God… Oh, God… Oh, God…_

And as he pushed me towards the ratlines, I saw a grey silhouette in the distance, and it became blurred as fire exploded from its side and a hot cannonball was sent straight towards our ship and hit Thorne's pompous white wig, his skull rupturing into a revolting mess of blood and scattered bone, and the remains of his head flew everywhere, on me, on the neighboring sailors, on Captain Carlisle and his remaining loyal lieutenants, and on the very deck on which his headless body collapsed.

"Beat to Quarters!" shouted Carlisle, horrified at what he had just seen. He shielded his face with his arm as his men made way as he hurried by, towards the helm. Kempe came to me and lifted me up away from Thorne and his sorry remains and Johnson freed me from my gag. And as soon as my mouth was free, I vomited right at his feet.

"Mister Turner! Mister Bennett!" called Kempe, looking at me with a pinched face. My mids came forward like obediently and without even a word, Bennett scooped me up in his arms. But that did not mean I would be brought somewhere safely. It didn't even mean that anyone would be safe.

The _Pearl_ had found us, and she wanted fresh blood. She wanted a ship full of treasure. And she wanted two souls, two rings and an elusive little sparrow.

The _Resolve_ had fought back with all her capability, her crew working endlessly to load and fire the guns, to steer the ship into the wind's favor and to make precise, deadly shots. But the _Pearl_ had gained the advantage first. She saw a moment of vulnerability and took it, and thus, she sealed our fate with a massive attack that left our ship in the brink of sinking into the blue main.

Our ships were now facing broadside, the _Pearl_ getting ready to board, and us, armed to protect this ship of Britannia to the death, but victory appeared dim in our eyes. Our sails were ripped and shredded, and our mizzen and foremast were severed in two by a lucky pair of chain shots. Blood swelled on the deck and the thick smoke of gunfire created an irritating fog among us. But it wasn't enough to hide us from our foes.

The whore of a captain on board the _Pearl_ came up to the railing of her ship and raised her hands, calling for a cease fire.

"I'll make a deal with ye," she yelled. "Let me come aboard an' if any o' yiz take a shot at me, yer ship goes down. My ship's guns are loaded and ready to fire, and if ye make one wrong move, forty cannonballs will be fired straight at yer hull. An' ye'll sink like a lump of rock." She laughed and prompted for a gangplank to be lowered, and as the other end of the plank hit our deck, I bristled with pure and unadulterated anger as she stepped on board.

Two of her pirates came after her, and she stood with a frown on her face, a large feathered hat shadowing her eyes from us, and just the glint of her numerous jewels flashing in the clearing fog.

"I want the girl," she demanded. "And I want the boy. And then I'll leave," she stated simply. "I won't attack you. Just give me the girl and the boy and I'll be gone."

"Why do you want them?" questioned Carlisle. "They are citizens of the Crown. If I surrender them to you, I only endanger their lives."

"Well, sir, I can assure you I won't be hurtin' none of yer little darlin's. 'Specially the two I want. I wouldn't want them if I was gonna kill 'em, now would I?" She looked amongst the crew and saw me and I bared my teeth at her. She laughed.

"C'mon. If I take the girl, all yer troubles'll be gone. Ye wanted to get rid o' her anyway, aye? Give 'er and her brother to me, Captain. I'll get 'em outta yer hair." She looked at me again. "C'mon, sweetie. I know jus' where yer dear ol' daddy is. Cap'n Jack Sparrow, aye? I know jus' where he is, my dear. I can bring 'im to ye."

I looked at Roland, the offering seeming oh so wonderful in my mind, but he shook his head at me. "Don't do it," he mouthed.

But there was something wrong about his reasoning. If we didn't go to her, she'd sink the ship and all of us would fall into the maddening darkness of Davy Jones' locker. I wouldn't allow that. My dear Bennett drowned at sea? Never. Funny Dobbin and Andre to have graves in the bottomless ocean? Never. I wouldn't let it happen. And for what seemed like a very long time, I made a resolute decision for both Roland and myself.

"We'll go," I declared. "We'll go if ye don't sink this ship. Don't you _dare_ hurt any of these men or this ship, do you understand me?" The tramp grinned at me and took off her large hat and bowed, and I heard her pirates laugh. She was mocking me.

"Of course, my child," she purred, resuming her upright position and looking at me. "Come aboard. An' I'll welcome the two o' ye to the _Black Pearl_."

Before I even had the chance to give any goodbyes, her two pirates seized Roland and me from the _Resolve _and hauled us over the gangplank and to the deck of the _Pearl_.

"Bennett!" I cried, but a grimy hand covered my mouth and the last thing I saw was Bennett rushing to the railing of the dear, beloved _Resolve._

And then the earthshaking boom of forty fired cannons crashed into the side of the beautiful British Man-of-War, and the _Pearl _sailed off, leaving my first ship, my first adventure, and all of my mates, to sink to the depths of the powerful, blood-hungry ocean.

We weren't brought down to the brig as I had expected. We were brought to the captain's quarters, and we were told to sit in the two chairs placed in front of an old, rotting desk, and the smooth sequence of all that was happening moved me to believe that this whore of a captain had been planning our capture for a very, _very_ long time.

Roland said not a word to me, and he sat with his arms crossed over his chest and his head turned away from me in definite protest. He told me not to agree to her terms, and look what happened. We were captive on board a pirate ship and our mates and future were as good as dead. I knew nothing I said would convince him to speak with me, and so I remained taciturn, sitting in my chair with my hands folded in my lap and my eyes wandering around the quarters, noting every familiar object in the cabin. And the longer I looked, the more my childhood memories on board the _Pearl_ came to life in my head.

I suddenly recalled a vague memory in which I sat in a chair in front of the same very desk, and Jack sat at the desk, his feet propped up and a gold doubloon getting flipped between his jeweled fingers. I sat in my chair bouncing up and down, wanting to get out of the chair but for some reason being stuck to it by some invisible power that brought a great frown on my fat, pouting face. I whined, I screeched, I cried, and I beat at the chair with my little fists, and Jack continued to sit at his desk, adding a whistled sea chanty to his simple action of flipping the little gold coin in his hand.

"Daddy, let me out!" I wept, my hands grasping the arm of the wooden chair and trying to wrench it off in childish desperation. And since I could not break off the chair arm with my hands, I sank my toddler teeth into the wood and bit at it like a dog who chewed on his bone.

"Let me out!" I repeated, the chair arm still wedged in my mouth, and Jack stopped his amusement and took his legs off of the desk top and leaned over to look at me.

"Why are ye eatin' that chair, love?" he asked me, and I only glared at him with water on my face and my teeth still gnawing on the poor chair.

"I'm not!" I cried. "Ye won't lemme out."

"Why d'ye think I'm not lettin' ye out, lovey? Eh? Do ye think I brought you to the chair to have ye eat it?" Stupid as I was back then (and perhaps still now), I said:

"Yes. Ye want me to eat the chair, 'cause yer mean!" He looked at me, shocked, his lips forming a perfect 'o' as he sat back, only to break the 'o' into a wide grin that showed his golden teeth in all their vulgar beauty.

"I'm mean? Now, what d'ye mean by me bein' mean, love? Am I mean because you say I'm mean an' you mean it? Or am I mean 'cause I mean for ye to eat that chair an' I mean it?"

I freed the arm of the chair from my drooling mouth and looked up at him, letting out a high-pitched and honest, "_Huh_?"

He looked at me for a second and then pursed his lips, his brows furrowing in either concern or misunderstanding. And after we exchanged stares, me looking like a cock-eyed fool and he looking like a confused cockatoo, he finally said:

"D'ye mean that, love?"

And my pudgy, bemused little face contorted at his persistent joking, and I wailed, "Lemme out, Jack! Let… me... _out_!"

And being the wonderful daddy he was, he left his desk with a little roll of his eyes and picked me up from the chair and carried me outside, where I immediately quieted and bubbled with joy and laughter as he reunited me with the fresh salty air of my beauteous ocean.

The door slammed behind us and I almost jumped from my seat. Her heeled boots thudded across the floor as she made way to her desk, taking off her large feathered hat and plopping it on the desk top. She didn't sit in a chair when she addressed us. Oh no. She did not. She sat her bum down on the desktop and brought her legs up, flashing an inappropriate smile at Roland and then fixing her dark eyes on me. And, might I add, her smile was gone as soon as we met eyes.

"Lookie here, chil'ren," she began, her voice monotone. I figured that she found our presences hardly worth her time. "I know one o' yous has what I'm lookin' for. An' yer gonna give me whatever I ask o' you or you die and I jus' let me crew out there search yer bodies for what I want. And I know _that_," she paused and glared at me again, "is not something _you_ want done to yerself, Miss Sparrow. Ain't that right?"

She tossed her head back and whipped her thick black braid over her shoulder, her painted lips curling again at the silence Roland and I created.

"Nottin' to say, eh?" she laughed, swinging her legs over the corner of the desk so that she faced us entirely and had no more need to cock her head from side to side. "Well… p'raps ye'll be more willin' t'speak if I introduce meself. Me name is Anne Flint. But _you_, dearies, call me _Captain_ Anne. Now… I know yer names by a very reliable little source o' mine, which none o' yous will ever find out. So… I guess I'll be tellin' ye what I want." She came to a halt and peered at both of us, and after a while, she made up her mind and stood up again, immediately approaching Roland as her feet landed on the floor.

She circled him, laying her hand on his face and letting her fingers slide around his mouth and nose and cheek as she made her way around him, and I grew sick at her whorish activity. My inner gut told me that her roots came from Tortuga. She couldn't have come from anywhere else. Her painted beauty was false and typical of the bauds that resided in the pirate town. She was a Tortuga wench. And there was no doubt about that.

When she had finished getting her kicks from Roland, she moved towards me, the smirk on her face vanishing and the same, dulled look coming onto her long, narrow face.

"Give me the rings around yer neck, love, and then I'll leave ye both alone. I'll even take ye to Jack if ye want me to. All ye have to do is gimme the rings. That's it." With one hand on her hip and the other outstretched before me, she beckoned for the two rings dangling by my neck.

_But the rings lead to a treasure, damn you_, I said to myself inside. _And there's no way in hell that I'm gonna give them to you_.

She must have noticed my reluctance, and she switched back to her supposedly sweet-looking little self and smiled at me. "Oh, my child. Ye look so much like yer mum. Same face, same eyes. Yer nose is a bit like that dumb Jack Sparrow's but still, ye owe yer pretty face to yer darlin' mum. Tortuga could use a few more lasses like you. We've been runnin' a bit low on new girls to keep the men on shore."

_Ha,_ I scoffed inside. _I ain't gonna fall for that cheap trick, you madwoman._

"I don't intend to go to Tortuga, you coquettish moll," I answered sharply. "And I ain't givin' you my rings neither."

"Too bad yer too much like Jack in personality," she sighed. "I'm gonna have to get rid o' you like I did him then." She sighed again and turned to Roland, batting her thick, black lashes and pouting for play. Roland looked absolutely dumbfounded as he gawked at her. She might have known Jack and she might have been a no good prostitute, but there was no questioning her beauty, however gilded it was with cosmetics. She was young, still in her young thirties, and even a young lad like Roland would be stupid not to absorb any glance she privileged him with.

It was no wonder why she was a Tortuga wench.

"Both o' ye are dismissed. Now get yer sorry arses outta me cabin!" she barked, kicking at the leg of my chair and almost toppling me over.

Roland and I rose from our seats quickly and scurried out of the cabin. And surprisingly, as we exited, none of her crewmembers immediately lashed out to throttle our necks and toss us overboard. We were given the freedom to roam about, which was oddly disturbing. And as happy as I was to finally be on my father's ship, I knew something was terribly wrong.

For one, Roland wouldn't speak to me still, and I caught him always looking back at Anne's cabin door over and over again as we walked around. And two, for being hostages on a ship, we weren't being treated like ones, and that meant just one thing:

Anne had something up her sleeve, and she'd be pulling it out as soon as possible.

I only wished that I knew when.

Roland still refused to speak with me, and he had abandoned my company long ago to wander about the ship all by his onesies. I didn't mind. He had probably gotten used to giving me orders after spending two years on a ship under his supervision, and it injured his pride to have to once again take orders from me. It was either that, or he blamed me for the detrimental attack on the _Resolve_ as Mad Annie sailed us away to the netherworld. But he honestly couldn't accuse me of anything. Did I know that she'd go back on her word? The traitorous tramp. Did I know?

No, I didn't. But even if I didn't, I knew what he'd say in response to my defense. He'd say, "You shouldn't have trusted her from the beginning anyway, Astrid! Now we're stuck here…" And so on and so forth. Thus, I concluded that perhaps it was better for the both of us to stay away from each other for a while. I didn't exactly want another fight with Roland, especially at this moment when I felt that Anne was conjuring up some evil little scheme in her head. For indeed, if she planned on terminating us, then Roland's alliance would be most comforting.

It was a pity, however, that he wasn't on deck when her plan was finally executed that evening.

"There you are, Astrid!" Anne chimed as she came towards me, her arms wide open as if expecting me to run up to her and hug her as if she were my mum. _She really is daft if she thinks I'm gonna greet her affectionately…_

As she came closer, I muttered a curse towards her and rolled my eyes as I turned away, resting my elbows on the larboard rail of the _Pearl_ and propping up my chin with the palms of my hands.

"Now, now, dear," she chided, laying a hand on my shoulder. I shuddered and backed away from her, seeing the grand white moon rising over her head in the black night and noting the dark glimmer in her eyes as she grinned at me.

"Leave me alone," I growled, my left hand manually resting on my right hip for the hilt of my sword. But to my horror, I realized that all of my belongings were left on the _Resolve_, and I was left weaponless and entirely vulnerable to physical attack.

_Damn. You. Anne. Flint._

"Oh, but we can't leave ye alone, little Astrid," she said, coming forward and snapping her fingers. Her crew flew to her like a swarm of flies and they circled me, leaving me no out whatsoever.

_Oh, dammit, Astrid!_

"What do you want?" I ordered, but she laughed at me instead of properly answering my question. Raising her hand up as she cackled so as to keep everyone else silent while she relished her pure, witch-like laughter hideously echoing in the still evening air, she finally addressed me.

"You stupid girl," she snapped, her guffaws coming to a short, halting stop. "I want the ruby rings around your neck. I want them _now_!" My hands immediately went to the chain around my neck, and I backed away even further, only to run into the hard, muscled bodies of her demented crew.

I let out a squeal and made a run for the railing, finding the cold, bitter seawater more appealing than surrendering the jewelry to her, but her men instantly blocked my path, trapping me in a tighter space than before and only growing tighter.

As soon as the first grimy hand touched me, I jumped and let out a shout. "Roland!" But another pair of hands grabbed my head and another man had drowned my shrieking mouth with a ball of cloth and a rag wrapped around my jaw. More hands seized my legs and held them tight, all the while tying them down with something heavier than simple rope, and the same went for my flailing wrists.

"I told ye I'd get rid of you, sweetie," said Anne, walking up to my fettered, shackled and gagged self. "And I always get what I want." With a fierce yank, she broke the chain around my neck that held both Bennett's and Adam's ring and let the two golden jewels plop into her palm. And as soon as they were in her possession she smiled wickedly at me and said: "Drown her."

Her men roared with merry, impious laughter as they heaved me towards the railing of the ship. A chain shot was attached to the chains on my ankles and no matter of protest could stop them. They had managed to silence me and subdue me in their great, awful number and all that waited for me was the hungry lapping of the waves against the ship, the ocean's mouth opening to swallow me whole as Mad Anne Flint's men pulled me up and dropped me into the water like a body sewed in cloth and announced as dead.

The darkness was suffocating as I plummeted into the waves, and the chain shot attached to my legs pulled me deeper and deeper into the water at an alarming rate. I couldn't even worry or think in my position. I_had_ to get out, but my body was failing me. My breath was draining and my lungs ached for more air, but my mouth was gagged and my nose was filled with water. No air would ever get back into my system.

As I tried to pry my wrists from the chains, the old, rusted iron only cut my skin and added small ribbons of blood into the dark water, and my feet were of no use either. The chain shot was sinking me, and I couldn't get it… off?

A weight was lifted from my legs, and I looked down at my feet, seeing only blackness but bending over in the water to see what had fallen off of my ankles. The chain shot had broken off, the iron apparently weak and brittle, and desperately, I struggled to pull the chains off of my legs.

But my efforts were in vain.

I was dying.


	27. Letter from a Lieutenant

_Chapter 27: Letter from a Lieutenant_

_A. G. Locke  
On board the H.M.S Goliath  
Off the Coast of Cyprus  
July 28, 1798_

_Mrs. Natalie Locke Clyde  
12 Crawford Place  
Portsmouth, England_

_Dear Sister,_

_I know that it has been months since my last letter, but you must understand that I am never one to send letters on an affectionate or personal note. My hand simply finds it easier to write messages destined for a commanding officer's possession rather than that of my dear sister's. However, my reluctance to engage in the exchange of written words is due mostly to my lack of time and more so to the repetitive and dry experiences I have undergone in these past months. And as you may guess, I write now because there has been a most baffling and fascinating interruption to the monotony, which I feel is a necessary bit of information for your worrying mind._

_Just yesterday we encountered one of our own: a Man-of-War, fourth rate, equipped with sixty guns and a frantic crew of perhaps three hundred and fifty, but the strange thing about her, sister, was that she was sinking. She must have been sinking for what appeared to be a few days when our fleet spotted her. One of the frigates that had gone ahead had recognized her and proceeded to send the word to the rest of the ships, and thus, the entire fleet was progressively informed of our wounded associate, the H.M.S _Resolve

_Her captain, Captain Richard Carlisle, is an old friend of Father's, and upon hearing the news that one of Britannia's few fourth rate vessels and one of her most gifted post-captains were on the verge of dipping down into the sea, Father immediately volunteered us as the first ship of the line to inspect the disaster. He had me signal our wishes to the commander of our fleet, Admiral Nelson, by process of semaphore and we soon had his reply of consent._

_As we approached the sinking ship, I took notice of the floating debris, and, unfortunately, of the dead, rotting bodies strewn recklessly across the tame waters. An unsolicited fetor became mingled with the salty, damp sea-air, and I recall grimacing as we turned broadside and came alongside her, her lower decks already well below the water line, and her men clinging to what remained of the masts and rigging for dear life. It almost seemed as if they hadn't moved for hours, perhaps out of fear that any movement they made would sink their ship faster._

_The fore and mizzen were gone—cracked, broken in two—and the result of that injury left the ship tilting on the larboard side, as that was the side on which the broken spars of the masts fell, and they were weighing down that half of the ship, allowing for a clear incline for the water level to ascend. The rigging was splayed, with lines and stays lacerated and mangled in a web of evident distress. Holes abounded the sails, and blood had soaked into the polished wood on the quarter and poop decks, the waist, and the forecastle and had stained the surfaces deeply; in short, speckled pools of crimson had overrun the parts of the deck that were dry, and dead bodies and limbs were unable to be disposed of properly, as every single man on that ship was praying for his life._

_It was too dangerous to board even a third of our crew onto the injured vessel, and so Father found it fair if Lieutenant Murray and I sent both ourselves and two gun divisions to the ship via boat. In any other instance, we probably would have come alongside the ship as close as possible, but in this situation, risking a possible collision with the ailing ship was not favorable. Cutters were launched and I went down with one. As soon as our boats gently bumped against the man-of-war, Murray and I directed the divisions carefully up the over the starboard rail and onto the slick, slanted deck of the _Resolve

_We began our rescue mission with an announcement of our arrival, and I bellowed, "For those able, say 'Aye'!" My reply was weak, the murmured replies of the men who did speak coming together in what sounded more like a dying whale than a spirited crew of His Majesty's Navy. I have heard men in India say 'Aye, sahib!' louder and more unified than what I heard from my fellow countrymen then. The process of rescue was slow and cautious, as it seemed with every step we took that the _Resolve_ had sunk another inch. To climb up the destroyed rigging to get the men from the masts was lunacy, and so we had to persuade the worn, injured men hiding aloft to descend with prudence, and all of them were willing to do so, many collapsing into helping hands as soon as their feet hit the deck._

_Fortunately, we managed to get much of the seaman off, but Murray and I soon became aware that there were very few officers on the top deck. In surveying the dead as I wandered around, I found a corpse wearing a lieutenant's uniform, First Lieutenant most likely, but the body had no head, and I felt my stomach churn and twist at the sight._

_The cabin located beneath the quarterdeck was dry, mostly, and the door was left ajar, broken actually, and I poked my head in, meeting a thick, muggy darkness. Knowing that no light meant no sight, I broke the door off with a fierce tug and let the daylight stream into the room, revealing a group of lads huddled to the far right, on the elevated side of the cabin. One of them immediately stood, despite the fatigue I noticed in his steps, and he came forward silently, somberly._

_He was wearing a midshipman's uniform, and he had in his hand something I thought I'd never see again._

_My spyglass._

_"What's happened?" I demanded tonelessly. "State your name and rank."_

_He told me he was Senior Midshipman Gareth Bennett, and he described to me in few words, that in the middle of an abrogated execution, the pirate ship the_ Black Pearl_ had launched a surprise attack on them during their distraction with the chaotic execution._

_I asked him where his captain and lieutenants were. He said that the captain had gotten wounded from the last, disastrous attack launched against them, and that he had last seen the lieutenants on the quarterdeck. As he was answering my questions, I still could not help but glance over at the spyglass still in his hands. My initials had been engraved in that precious little thing, and I knew that I had given it away before I left._

_I had given it away to Astrid on her last night in Port Royal._

_When he had finished with his story, I saw a figure loom up behind him and peer at me, and to my astonishment, my old friend, Andre Newton, gave his greetings. If I remember correctly, Sister, you said that you had housed some of my old mates several months back, but you failed to tell me where they came from. You mentioned names, I believe, and Andre's was one of them. 'Bennett' seemed oddly familiar as well and I was able to connect the name of the midshipman before me to the Bennett that you had described, but the other name you introduced to me, 'Barlow,' was entirely new. I had never heard of it before._

_Andre did not hesitate to tell me that Roland had been taken hostage by the pirates, along with this 'Barlow' as well. Apparently, the captain of the _Pearl_ only wanted them, and the two stupidly agreed to her wishes and left their fellow captain and brothers on board susceptible to full blown attack. Yes, Mister Turner is a good friend of mine, Sister, but I do not think that it was very wise of him to accept _any_ terms of a traitorous pirate. The able seaman also added to my grief by informing me that Midshipman Robert Lester had gotten injured in battle and was unconscious with fever._

_And so I asked where their surgeon was._

_Mister Bennett gladly answered that and said that the surgeon was at the quarterdeck with the lieutenants, and I began to punish myself mentally for not inspecting the quarterdeck before coming to this cabin. I told them all to get out of the stuffy cabin and to come out on deck, and they did, both Bennett and Newton supporting a red-faced Dobbin with their arms as they came out. They were followed by a group of ship's boys, who all seemed rather unharmed, and I left them in the care of the seamen who accompanied Murray and me, and they got them onto the _Goliath_ safely._

_Murray met me halfway on my path to the quarterdeck and he informed me that the surgeon and two lieutenants Mister Bennett had mentioned earlier were safe and already on our ship. Furthermore, he added that he came across the deplorable Victor Griffith, and dismally confessed that the bastard was without a scratch and also safely transferred to our ship._

_"Let's get the rest of them off, Kenneth," I said, and he nodded before calling the orders to his men. From then on, our pace increased slightly, and we managed to get all men alive onto the _Goliath_ and out of harm's way, for the time that is._

_Father ordered the _Resolve_ to be burnt, having gotten the orders sent to us by Lord Nelson himself. She was in far too much damage to ever be of use again and by the time we had gotten every living crewmember of the _Resolve_ off, our commander had already stepped foot on our ship and said directly and decisively for the ship to be burnt. The dead bodies still there would surely be mourned and a funeral service is to be held soon in their honor, and the cargo obtained from previous battles would also be lost, putting the efforts of the men alive in vain._

_But such are the ways of the ocean, Sister. She is never always kind, nor is she ever always heartless._

_Now, I did mention before that I had developed some concern over this matter after I had identified the spyglass Mister Bennett had held in his hands. After speaking with him today, he admitted, with little shame, that the spyglass belonged to a sweetheart—a lover. At first, I thought that the young man was a fairy, but he must have anticipated such a thought and explained that his sweetheart had come on board disguised as a boy when in truth, he was a woman._

_My interest in his story surged rapidly and I nearly shouted out my demanding questions at him, my zeal in the subject overcoming me._

_"What was her name?" I commanded, my hands clenching as both excitement and worry pulsed through my veins. "What was it!"_

_"Astrid, sir," he replied, looking at me as if I was mad. But his confusion did not last long. He was a man of intellect, I could tell, and he understood as quickly as I did. "You know her," he said, looking down, the spyglass still in his hands. His finger ran over my initials on the side and he added, "And you love her."_

_I said nothing afterwards. I feared that any response to his remarks would damn me, as I wasn't quite sure myself of what to say. To think of it, Sister! That Astrid was on that ship! That she had survived and endured such hardships in the navy! What madwoman have I become so enamored with, Sister? Tell me that she was not so when you housed her so many months back!_

_But even if she had earned her place in the navy, I worry about her now, Nattie. In the hands of pirates? God, have mercy! What trouble has she gotten her pretty self into? And to think that I was but a few days away from seeing her again, and yet I arrive and find that she has been taken hostage and that her heart, unbeknownst to me, had already found a new keeper._

_To hell with it! Her ocean is as treacherous and deceitful as those damned criminals who pollute the seas, and I have come to realize, Nattie, that I do not fear so much for her safety now, but rather that she herself may turn pirate, and perhaps, she shall bring Roland into her alluring little scheme as well, as she so successfully does to every man who knows her._

_Our days are short, Sister. We will arrive in Egypt in a matter of days, and there is no telling what awaits us there. And so I pray for you, your husband and your newly born son to be and to stay in good health. And should Miss Sparrow write to you, tell her that I miss her, and let us hope that she will understand what I truly mean when I say such blunt, careless words. I do not think she even remembers me anymore._

_But as I close this letter, this I _do_ ask of you, Sister. If Astrid does indeed write to you for whatever reason she finds worthy, tell her that I have now learned of her shameless legend as the infamous 'Jackaroe.'_

_Love,  
Adam_


	28. In Mother's Footsteps

_Chapter 28: In Mother's Footsteps_

"**T**om?"

A shrill, petite voice penetrated through the dense, gloomy cloud of fatigue smothering my aching head.

"Aye, Cord? What be on yer mind?"

The response to the high-pitched question was evidently male, with a mellow deepness to it that was conveniently and naturally paired with thick, broad Irish brogue. His voice only triggered a rush of happy memories of my time on the _Resolve _and my lovely British sailors. But any peace in the recalled events was short-lived, for my knowledge of the whereabouts of the very same sailors was nonexistent. I had little or no way of learning about their current positions. They could have been dead despite my hopeful wishes.  
"Is…" There was a pause, and then a soft, "I think this person is a she…" followed by a louder and more jarring, "Is she dead?"

The innocence of such a blunt question convinced me that a child was speaking, and at the thought of people watching me, I willed my body to awaken. However, my limbs were sore all over, and an ever-present pang in my skull persisted to throb unremittingly.

My body's pain made a jolt upwards as a sharp object poked my arm, causing me to twitch involuntarily at the sudden probe.

"Dead?" answered the man, a merry air on the tip of his tongue. He must have observed my wincing self with grinning common sense. "No, I don't think she's dead, but she sure smells like a deceased, rotting cow… If it's a _she_ at all."

_What a pleasantly vulgar young brute_, I thought, forcing an eye open to glare at the cad what said that to my ailing self.

"Awright," chimed the child. "Let's wake her up!"

Both of my eyes bolted open, now alarmed and awake, and the first full image I soaked in was the confused expression of a young, red-haired Irishman crouched down on a sandy, golden shore, with a small, brown-skinned girl trotting away, laughing.  
"Cord!" he called, his eyes still fixed on me. I remained gawking at him in return.

The girl didn't hear him or chose to ignore him, and her cheery little self came hopping back, her hands firmly grasping a wooden bucket that was finely dripping with water.

Not even a full gasp of unmistakable protest escaped me before the girl dumped the cool seawater over me, covering me in a fresh, wet film of sea salt and a lone, orange sea star. My eyes were wide and stinging, the grainy salt in the brackish water burning the fragile skin around the edges, and at my great discomfort, the young girl simply took a step back, her square, white teeth biting into her bottom lip and her hands shoving the now empty bucket behind her back to hide any evidence against her. Unluckily for her, I, the targeted victim, had witnessed the whole display of outright and purposeful disturbance.

"Now why the hell did ya have to do that, Cord?" chastised the man as he swatted the frayed hem of her brown skirt with his hand. She didn't even flinch; her attention was still entirely given to me as she continued to look at me as if I was some sort of public exhibit displayed for the leisure of the ignorant public, her round, brown eyes fixed in bare curio.

Regardless of her inquisitiveness, I did not delay in expressing my plain provocation and narrowed my salt-crusted eyes at her posthaste, easing my aggravation only after the girl had been humiliated enough to look down, her thick, mahogany curls falling over face.

"I'm sorry, M-Miss," she squeaked, beginning to sway athwart and rocking on the balls of her bare, sand-coated feet. I could perceive her uncertainty in speaking with me, especially with the 'Miss' part. After all, I was still dressed in my not-so-fine midshipman's uniform, sans one stocking, both shoes and my hat. And in embarrassing addition, my hair was still cut short. Some 'Miss' I looked like.

"Come now, Cord. Chin up," said the man, bumping her chin up and then peering at me. "What's yer name, lass?" he asked, his tone considerably more trenchant than when he spoke with the crestfallen child.

"Astrid," I answered firmly, attempting to gather my puny strength to stand. Though, I only succeeded in sitting up, propping myself upward with one arm.

"Where ye from, eh?" He came over to me and pointed a finger at my soiled navy-blue midshipman's jacket. "Now what's a girl like you doin' in man's garb?" He laughed and flicked my shoulder with false amusement.

"Long story," I muttered, shooting a glare at him and then rolling over so that I was on my stomach. Unsuccessfully, I tried to push myself up with my hands, moaning and cursing as I pushed my bruised muscles to lift me up.

"Well then…" I heard the man breath out, followed by another light laugh.

I had only managed to get on my hands and knees before this man grabbed my middle stiffly and hauled me up onto my own flimsy limbs. And at his touch, I slapped his hands off of me on instinct. I had honestly had enough of men for a while.

Unfortunately, men ruled the earth and no matter where I went, they would still dominate the atmosphere.

He easily acquiesced to my warnings and took his hands off, chuckling as he let me go.

"Ye seem like a very amiable little bairn," he remarked wryly, with just as jocular a smirk on his visage.

_Indeed I am,_ I retorted mentally as I struggled to balance my battered body on my lubberly feet.

"We humbly apologize for wakin' ye, Missy," continued the Irish bugger, taunting me further by bowing in my direction and taking off his hat. "It won't happen again, now will it, Cord?"

"No, Tom," beamed the child as her round countenance smiled at me. She seemed no older than ten, and for some odd reason, there was a familiarity in her facial features that pestered me.

The child was incontestably of mixed origin, for her brown skin was light in comparison to others and her nose was distinctly European. Perhaps she was a mix of European and native African blood? I honestly had no clue, but her face was so hauntingly familiar that I began to rack my exhausted mind for answers.

Thankfully, the Irishman pulled me out of my daze with a sonorous, "Allow me to introduce ourselves. Cord, would ye like t'go first?"

"Aye, that I would, Tom," replied the girl as she bobbed a swift curtsy to me and then proudly announced, "Me name is Cordelia, 'cept everyone calls me Cord for short. An' that bloke what teased ya is me good mate an' guardian, Tom O'Brian." She stepped aside and presented him with a nod while he took his hat off again with a flourish and bowed, taking my hand and kissing the back of it lightly.

If their particular act was meant to make me laugh, then I gave them full credit for succeeding. Their introductions seemed both rehearsed and impromptu, which made it all the more entertaining. Plus, after kissing my hand, Tom made a side glance at Cord and whispered, "That's the French way, aye?"

Cord giggled and nodded, and I joined her, regretting ever thinking unkindly of this strange but dynamic duo.

They offered to take me into the port for some refreshment, and after agreeing, I asked them where I was as we made our way towards the docking yard.

"Egypt," said Cord, grinning broadly at the name. "But Tom an' I are takin' a ship to Tortuga in the Caribbean."

"The Caribbean!" I yelped, acting as if I had not heard the name in ages, for certainly, I could hardly even match a memory or image to such a place anymore.

"Aye," Tom commented dully. "We're in Egypt 'cause little Cord here thought it'd be fun t' explore a ship an' accidentally snuck onto a French sloop when we were last in Tortuga. An' whaddya know? We ended up here."

I looked at Cord, amused with the tale, and she laughed sheepishly. "She adores France," added Tom, slightly disgusted. "It's a bloody long story."

"I can tell you if ye want, Astrid," proposed Cord enthusiastically, tugging on the threadbare sleeve of my jacket.

"Later, Cordelia," ordered Tom, waving a disapproving finger at her, and a sudden memory of Maggie scolding me back at home flashed before my eyes. I blinked and shook my head and saw Cord consent with a pout, and then the three of us entered a seaside tavern.

It was obvious that the two knew the place well, for Tom easily sauntered up to the bar and leaned over, rubbing his trimmed, neat red goatee as he conversed, or rather, _flirted_, with the barmaid serving drinks and meals on the other side. The brunette woman spoke in endearing French words to Tom's rugged English, and shortly after, Tom flicked a few gold coins onto the countertop and left the bar with a wink at the barmaid.

"Lucky you," he said to me as he came back. "Annette jus' so happens to like me enough to let ye have a free meal."

"The why'd ya throw the money at her?" I questioned bitterly, displeased with his sarcasm.

"For something else," he answered, initially frowning at me and then easing back into his wicked grin.

"You _dirty_ bastard!" I yelled, but he rolled his eyes as he touched his goatee again.

"Not _that_, ye twit," he groaned. "She's gettin' ye a bath ready. Ye stink like hell."

When the French barmaid came out with my meal, Tom and Cord found it appropriate conversation to tell me that they'd be leaving for Tortuga that evening and that I was welcome to come along if I wished. At first, I was apprehensive of their offer, wondering why they would let me, a complete stranger, join them on their voyage. I didn't know if they saw anything in me, but they did seem quite hospitable and welcoming. Their offer was far too tempting for me to decline. And Tortuga was Mad Anne's origin. Perhaps I could get some gossip about her once we arrived there. It would certainly help if I crossed paths with her again, which I very much intended to do.

"So it's settled then?" I posed, wiping my gravy-covered mouth with the sleeve of my jacket. "I get to sail with you to Tortuga?"

"Not in that outfit, lass," scorned Tom. I balked in profound disagreement, my face ready to scowl at him but uttering no sound from my wide open mouth. "For one," he resumed, enjoying my disgust, "The cap'n of the ship we're sailing on won't let ye on board dressed as a damn pretty boy. An' two, that uniform ye wear makes ye too openly… _English_."

"Right," I scoffed, snorting as I crossed my arms. "I forgot we're in Froggy-land."

A distinct _hmph_ shot out of Cord's own nose as she glared at me, and I immediately recalled her undying adoration for Old Boney's nation and property, and I murmured to her my own indistinct apology.

"Then what should I wear?" I dared to ask, and Tom's naughty little smirk resurfaced. Though, I had never seen such a charming smile and I found my pouting lips slightly quivering as he looked directly at me.

"A dress!" squealed Cord, clapping with frenetic delight as she thought of the prospect of dressing me up like a doll.

"Yes, a dress!" agreed Tom, imitating Cord's zeal.

My face was drained of any joy, and I found myself gawping at them in disbelief. Cord noticed my silent rebuttal and frowned.

"Ye don't like dresses?" she asked, pretending to sulk at me.

"_Hell_ no!" I shrieked, and even Tom was taken aback (literally) by my bark. Cord became all the more disappointed and appeared to be on the verge of crying, resting her chin in her palm as she looked down at the table we sat at.

"Oh, but wait!" she suddenly burst, raising her head back up and not a trace of sadness left on her face. "You haven't tried any _French_ dresses yet, Astrid!"

"I think yer missin' the po—" She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of my seat, dragging me out of the tavern door and into the streets, where she directly brought me to the closest tailor shop: _Monsieur Lécuyer's_tailor shop to be exact, _La Maison de Belle Robe_.

"Go in, Astrid. _Please?_" she implored, tugging on my sleeve again. Tom had caught up with us and stood behind me, silent and expecting my answer.

"If I get a dress will you never ever ask me to get another one?"

"Oh, fine," Cord grumbled. "Now, go in!" She nudged me toward the door, and I held my breath… _again_.

Cord received her wish, and I was granted mine. She was exaggeratedly gleeful, laughter bubbling out of her when she saw me come out of the shop with a simple, dark blue gown that appeared to still be stubbornly tight across the middle and waist. I didn't know about Cord, but this French dress seemed almost identical to my English ones back home. But, I _did_ sneak in my own prize: a new jacket and trousers, which wasn't easy to get for free either. The dress, Tom paid for. The extra apparel I had to wheedle my way about with the fresh, French tailor's son, who had taken his father's place while he was away. And I succeeded in my little bargain by returning to my whorish, coquettish ways for a few minutes, and with a farewell kiss on the cheek, the young man happily gave me what I wanted.

Though, I had to admit, my actions were not in the least bit becoming and I knew that if Bennett saw me, he'd be fuming mad. And the worse thing about it was that I realized I was acting no better than damn Mad Annie, especially with all this manipulation I was doing against the male race.

_Oh, dammit, Astrid…_

With new dress, trousers and jacket in hand, we exited the shop and returned to the tavern where I got my bath and reluctantly changed into the damn dress I was forced to buy. Annette, the barmaid, was kind enough to help me with the whole corset routine and she approved of my selection of clothing like any other fashion-adoring woman would do. The only thing she didn't like about my appearance was my short hair, and so she gave me a spare bonnet to tie over my head. I really had no intention to use it, but these French were too damn kind and charitable, and out of respect and humility, I took every gift they gave me.

Before I made my debut to Tom and Cord, Cord snuck in to see me and danced at my sight. "You're lovely, Astrid! Tom will like you. Aye, that he will," she giggled, and I felt my face burn at the compliments. Mentioning Tom's opinion of me only made me feel queasy. _Dammit, Astrid, always falling for every handsome bloke out there who offers you a helping hand…_

Sure enough, when I stepped out and revealed myself to Tom (and the whole of the tavern for that matter), his eyebrows shot up and he speedily looked me up and down before turning around and marching out of the tavern.

"Let's go, shall we? It's getting late. Our ship'll be leavin' soon." He coughed afterwards.

"_Oui!_" cried Cord, taking my hand. "_Allons-y!_"

And off we went to Tortuga town.

The slow voyage to Tortuga was nonetheless an enriching time for Tom, Cord and me. Having to share the same cabin on the fat merchantman we boarded made for a perfect bonding atmosphere between the three of us, even if it did mean a few natural bickers at the beginning of the voyage before our differences were finally set aside.

Our hammocks were strung up in the snug cabin side-by-side, and I was stuck on one end with Cord to my right and Tom on her other side, which was a good arrangement, if you ask me. I enjoyed lying in my hammock at night and telling stories of my time on the _Resolve_ to Cord, who seemed to like my tales only because they often involved our encounters with the French. Tom enjoyed them for a reason he never told or made obvious to me. He just lied in his own hammock and listened attentively, interrupting here and there with a few comments and such, but never sitting up and leaning towards me as if he was sucked into the story itself. Cord did, clutching an old ragged doll in her arms as she squealed, laughed and cried at the instances of attack, humor and death. Tom didn't. He seemed aloof whenever I began another anecdote of the infamous Jackaroe's adventures, but he followed every account, just with absent interest.

Now, even if they listened to my stories, I never gave them the reason behind them. I wasn't quite certain yet if I could trust them, and so I kept my pirate ancestry and Jack a secret. However, Cord and Tom didn't seem to hesitate to tell me their histories. In fact, after hearing their backgrounds, I came to realize that we had far more in common than I had predicted.

Tom's origins were easy to distinguish. He was an Irishman, and by his dress and demeanor, I believed that he was a sailor who had either deserted the Navy or was a jolly liberty man.

"To hell with the God damn Navy," he snapped when I asked him if he was a sailor. "Those British toffs can go kiss my fine Irish arse for all I care."

"Were you pressed into the Navy?" I probed, leaning on the starboard railing of the quarterdeck and looking at him as he stared out at the grey ocean.

"Were I pressed? Damn right, I was. I was jus' mindin' me own business an' then all o' a sudden these grubby fat men started wavin' their clubs and sticks at me and hauled me down, tyin' me up as if I was nothin' better than a dumb calf." I cast my eyes south and focused on the small, foaming waves gently touching the black hull of the merchantman, thinking about Tom's unfortunate introduction to the Navy.

"Tom worked for the carpenter of his town in Ireland," intruded Cord when both Tom and I fell silent. She sat on the deck, fussing with her doll's hair, and didn't even look up at us when she said it.

"The lass is right," Tom admitted with a sigh. "An' so on my first voyage, I was the carpenter's mate. I went on about four more voyages until I was twenty-three, in which I was given leave on land in Tortuga. There, I met my present captain. An' I ain't a pawn of His Majesty's damned Navy anymore either." He smirked at me and came closer, leaning down so that he could whisper in my ear, and quietly he said, "I'm a pirate, love."

I could have kissed him after hearing such news.

Cord meandered up to us, her doll in her arms and she squeezed herself between the two of us and looked up at Tom. "What did you whisper to her?" she asked.

"I told her that I work for yer dad, lovey," replied Tom, opening his arms wide and allowing Cord to jump up and get carried by him.

In the meantime, I was near euphoria. If Tom was a pirate, then his captain was also a pirate. And maybe his employer knew Mad Anne and could let me join his crew! I suppressed a shriek from shooting out of my mouth by biting my tongue, but I only ended up laughing.

"What's your captain's name?" I managed to say between laughs.

"Captain Jack Sparrow!" cheered Cord as she punched her little brown fists in the air.

My laughter came to a dead halt, and I stood still, looking at the both of them with a wavering consciousness.

"Captain… Jack… Spar…" My head swayed and I fell back, fainting directly onto the polished deck with a dull thud.

It just so happened that after I regained consciousness, Cord and Tom found it a mandatory obligation to ask me why the hell I fainted, and so I told them, after getting some grog in me, that I had been looking for Jack for years now.

To my relief, they didn't ask me why I was looking for him.

"Well, the reason why _we're_ not with him right now," explained Cord as she began to dress her doll again, "is because Tom got injured during a duel he started on lan' and me mum never liked me bein' on a pirate ship, an' to tell the truth, I di'n't like it much neither, and so she suggested to Jack to drop both Tom an' me at Tortuga for a while where I'd be stayin wit' me grandmum an' where Tom would recover from his stupid brawl. An' we've been away from me daddy since."

_Daddy?_ I thought, almost choking when she said it. _Jack was her father!_

"He's your father?" I asked, in disbelief. If I wasn't the only one, then there was no telling how many Sparrows were out in the world.

"Yep," she answered, not minding my alarmed visage and continuing to play with her doll.

"Then who's yer mum?" I demanded, my question almost coming out as a shrill.

"My mummy's name is Ana Maria."

My eyelid twitched and I felt another swoon coming, but Tom wrapped an arm around my shoulders and shook me. "Easy there, love," he said. "When we get to Tortuga, we'll introduce you to 'em. He'll like you."

"What makes you think that?" I griped, letting myself sink into his embrace.

"Because _we_ like ye. That's why."

And that ended any further argument.

We arrived in Tortuga some good month later, and I expected to meet Jack on land, but after Tom and Cord poked around in some of his usual places of rest, they received the reply that he wasn't in the town at that moment. When they asked if he'd be back any time soon, their answers were obscure and useless.

"Sorry, lass," apologized Tom for the umpteenth time after exiting another tavern.

"So where are we supposed to stay?" I inquired, stepping aside and crossing my arms in great discomfort when some mome in altitudes narrowly missed grabbing me as he chased after some other painted wench.

"Well," started Tom, not so much his confident self anymore. He took off his hat and ran a hand through his red hair. "Cord is stayin' with her grandmum, an' on land, I jus' stay in an inn."

"So that leaves me where?" I seethed, placing my hands on my hips.

"Uh… you could… _work_ for your room and food," suggested Tom with a scratch of his head.

"No, no, no!" I yelled, stomping my foot and poking a finger at his chest. "No way in _hell_ am I gonna work in some stinkin' little—"

"Well, where are ye gonna work, eh, lassie? There ain't exactly a place here that fits the kinda job _you_ want, Astrid."

"But… I can't! I _won't_!"

"Oh, don't go pipe yer eye on me now, lass. For a few weeks. That's all. 'Twon't be too bad. I'll be right by yer side."

_Right my arse, you filthy little…_ I stopped my mental insult and decided that to curse at him would not help my position. I looked at my hands and traced the fine lines of my palm with my eyes, eyes that I had inherited from my mother. And this was _her_ place of origin. I didn't want it to be mine as well. But it seemed as if following in my mothers footsteps was imminent, and it hurt my pride to have to come down to such a level in order to survive.

With me nearly moping like a baby, Tom led me to a particular public house where he knew the tavern keeper was looking for some extra hands. No amount of coaxing would keep me from muttering curses to him and to this future work place of mine despite how warm and comforting his embraces were. He was taking me to my doom, and I would never forgive him for it if I were to be harmed in the building.

Upon entering, Tom immediately punched out a guy who had charged straight at us, red and delusional from over consumption of alcohol. The man flopped to the floor, passing into slumber with a wide, toothless grin on his grimy face. I kicked at him and Tom yanked me away, scolding me for my needless aggression.

"You wait here," he told me, pointing to a spot in the corner of the tavern that appeared to be out of the way of the drunk lunatics running about.

"Why can't I go with you?" I questioned, fearing being alone in such an intimidating space. The air was fuggy and hung around my face with a thick fetor of alcohol, sweat, candle wax and wet, rotting sewage.

"'Cause if I go up t' Priscilla with another dame, then she won't be open to negotiate, that's why." He turned and left me before I could even make a stubborn reply, and I stayed in my corner, my arms crossed so tightly across my chest that I was almost hugging myself.

My eyes scanned the place continuously, making sure that I made eye contact with no one. None of the men seemed respectable, and the majority of them seemed older than me by at least a decade or two. Shoulder-bare women contributed to the hideous cacophony of growls, yowls, breaking glass, hard punches and scurrying feet by laughing their sharp, shrill titters and coos. I grew sick thinking that I'd soon be joining them in such an occupation if Tom succeeded in getting me the disgraceful job.

I was lost in my thoughts for a few moments and when I looked back up to resume my keen observation of the tavern's activity, I saw that a circle of men sitting at a distant table were looking in my direction.

I gulped.

"Hey, Astrid!" yelled Tom, as he came toward me, waving his arm in the air to get my attention. I shifted my gaze at him and saw that he had his smile on his face and my spirit only sank further in me. "I got ye a job, lovey. Priscilla jus' wants t'see ya so she can fit ye in a proper uniform."

I glared at him and wanted to push him and punch him for what he had just done. He had made me into an official prostitute, dammit.

"I ain't gonna wear no damn whore's shift!" I shrieked, feeling the tears well in my eyes. I had tried so hard to avoid ever putting myself in such a situation and yet my virtue had been stolen from me and I was newly employed as a Tortuga wench. Nothing ever went my way. Nothing.

"Calm down, love. What's the matter? Don't mind the men. Jus' do yer work an' pick up their dirty dishes and be mindful of their hands and ye'll be fine."

"Stop it, you dirty Irish bastard! I know for a fact that's not what'll happen an' I'm not gonna fall for your stupid tricks!"

"I ain't fooling you, Astrid!" he bellowed, grabbing hold of my arms and shaking me a bit. "Ye know I can't pay for yer meals and food until Jack comes back. An' ye can't stay with Cord because it's hard enough for her grandmum already. Ye gotta be on yer own for a while. I'll watch over ye as best as I can. Stop cryin', love. Stop. Astrid, please."

I couldn't stop the tears now. My mother's doom would now be mine and I saw everything I had worked for once again slip out of my hands like sand through my fingers. What if Jack never came? And even if he did come, would I be able to get out of this career once it had become embedded into my brain?

"Astrid, chin up, love." He bumped my chin up with his finger and forced me to look at him and at his green, Irish eyes, eyes that were pale and the color of water. How could he of all people tolerate a place like this? But then I remembered he served under Jack and was still serving under him. Jack went to places like this and I was his daughter.

And in such a simple realization, I found that I was acting hopelessly foolish with my babyish weeping, and I nodded at him and wiped my eyes. Seeing that I had regained my composure, he brought me to the mentioned Priscilla where she dismissed Tom, took me to the back of the tavern and dressed me out of my French frock and into the shameful garb of a young, naïve strumpet.

I was to work immediately and was told my duties as soon as Priscilla pushed me out to my audience of froward asses. My orders were simple: pick up dirty dishes, pick up any new drink or meal demands and pick up any money presented on the table not intended for gambling. And, oh yes, accept every bit of money offered for whatever reason.

Priscilla thought that it'd flatter me if I wore a tight, black bodice over a tattered silk shirt that was too big for me, and then finish my discreditable apparel with a long brown skirt. She also insisted that I paint my face to 'enhance' my features but I rigidly declined, and she sent me off with a scowl and a battered wooden tray to pile dirty dishes on.

The top part of my sleeves slipped off my shoulders as I stumbled towards the horde of littered tables and raunchy men. I tried pulling the sleeves back up, but the shirt was too large, and I cursed when I made my paltry entrance with no avail in making myself looking like less of a moll.

It immediately came to my attention that the other 'waitresses,' if they even deserved to be called such, were obtusely seating themselves on the happy laps of several men instead of scooping up the growing pile of grungy dishes that begged to be removed from the tables. Then again, I also noticed the bright, golden circles of coins scattered across the dark tabletops, and Priscilla's words came back to my head. I had to accept any money offered for whatever reason.

I ended up standing for a good five or ten minutes just evaluating how to advance towards any table in need of a 'waitress.' No one seemed to mind me just standing there lost in a daze, and so I continued to wait and watch until I had thought up a safe, intelligent way to approach such disgusting persons. However, I never came to a satisfactory plan of action on account of two reasons. One, I never really was good at thinking up plans to get myself out of deep messes, and two, I realized that Tom had taken a seat at a table and surrounded himself in the opprobrious debauchery trademark of Tortuga. He even had a woman on his lap, the bastard.

_So much for keepin' an eye on me, you libidinous dog._

Indignant and insulted, I clenched my fists and felt my jaw tighten as I finally gathered enough mettle to meet those profligate carousers head-on. And into the throng I went, coming to my first table without so much as a smile to greet them.

The calls and hands came out like traps.

"Well, aren't ye a pretty one, eh?" rasped one as he pinched a part of my skirt. Luckily, I swerved just in time to have him pinch empty clothing instead of what he was really aiming for.

I honored him with no reply and simply reached for more of the empty tankards sitting on the table.

"Of course she won't talk to ye, ye ol' man," spat another one, his voice remarkably smoother than the first's. "She'll talk to _me_." A hand seized my waist and yanked me down, plunking me onto the lap of a young, but not so good-looking pirate. My hands still held the wooden tray with dishes and all piled up on it, and my hold only tightened. "What's yer name, lass?"

"Arsehole," I muttered, jabbing him hard in the chest with my elbow and thus earning me my freedom from his grasp. He winced and I gladly left, tray in hand.

I had similar encounters as I went to the other tables and none of them offered me any money to take yet, thank God. My hostile behavior did me well from further interesting any man who thought me as simply another prostitute he needed to get in his bed. However, I was careful never to go to Tom's table. I had glanced over at him a few times as I worked and noticed that all the men at the table were rather, well, young and handsome, which explained why so many whores lingered nearby to catch any of their admiring winks and glimpses. My consistent looking at them caused me to realize that it was _that_ table that had spotted me when I first entered the tavern with Tom.

And now they were looking at me again, their grins far wider than before. The only man who sat at that table and didn't look at me was Tom. He, might I add, was quite happy with the girl on his lap.

"Blast it all! Some bitch get this clutter off me table!" yelled one as I passed by. "You! Lass! C'mere." I honestly thought he wasn't calling _me_, and so I continued to walk away, only to see a tankard whiz by my head as it was thrown from behind. Alarmed, I spun around and met eyes with the young brute what threw it at me, and his grey eyes flickered fiercely at me.

"I said c'mere!" I had no choice but to go and so I went, timidly, my hands clutching parts of my skirt as I walked forward.

"Astrid!" beamed Tom, waving at me as I reached the table. _Damn, he's as drunk as Davy's sow._ I glared at him and my restless hands had the urge to flick a rude gesture in his direction, but I didn't because I had already forgiven him for his vulgar ways.

"Whaddya want?" I asked bitterly, looking up at the young pirate who had nearly hit my head with a blasted mug.

"Get this stuff off me table," he replied, more gently than before. He sat down in his chair and leaned back, giving me space to reach in and gather the dishes, but I was stupid to have fallen for his trap. Damn him.

As soon as I had filled the space he had made for me, he hooked a finger in the back of my bodice and swiftly tugged, allowing me to fall back onto him. "That's more I like it," he chuckled, pushing some of my hair away from my shoulders. I scolded myself for not cutting it. I shouldn't have let it grown.

"What'd ye say 'er name was, Tom? Astrid?" he asked. I looked at Tom, and he stared back blankly, saying, "Aye. That's it, Nathan."

"Well then, Astrid," he said, turning my face towards his. "Ten shillings for a private word with ye, love." He placed a small, black pouch into my hand.

"How long?" I demanded, my fingers closing around the bag.

"Not long," he answered. I was hesitant to agree, even though I had already accepted the money. I thought about what Bennett would have thought of me if he were to see me in such a place. He'd never want to see me again, I knew that. And Roland would have been just as unforgiving, wherever he was.

But I needed the money if I was ever going to see him again. I had to get enough to buy myself out of this occupation if Jack didn't come in time, and I wasn't about to let Roland fall into the hands of whorish Mad Annie. I couldn't and wouldn't allow it. I had no alternative. I _had_ to accept any money presented to me. It was the only way.

_Oh, God, forgive me…_

I swallowed and nodded, and the pirate gave a jolly whoop and let me up as he stood on his feet and led me a bit away from the others.

When I went to bed in the small room allowed for me in the tavern, my mind became overrun with endless nightmares. The roar of cannon fire, the thick, choking smoke, the bloody deaths of my comrades—they all came back to haunt me, and I always remained fixed in fear and paralyzed by an unconquerable helplessness that ushered hot tears down my face as I screamed and wept for help. But there was no aid in my dreams. Nothing came. Just the thunder of spitting guns and the cries of men drowning in a hideous black pool of severed limbs, headless bodies, ribbons of blood and red-eyed demons chasing me with a noose in hand.

I woke with a start, cold sweat trickling down my brow and my lungs heaving sob after sob as I awakened to nothing but the darkness of my dank little room. I wept for Bennett. I wept for Roland. I wept for Jack. I wept for all of them to come help me but none of them were there. The solitude was maddening, and my recent encounters with lustful pirates only worsened my chances of ever finding comfort because now memory of Griffith's assault returned, and the fear I had kept clogged up in my throat since the day I met Cord and Tom now came out in a horrible torrent, and I felt entirely powerless to overcome such frightening images. The familiar feeling of defenselessness and frailty returned despite my strong desire to be brave and capable, and I spent the rest of the night weeping, with no one in the world aware of my torment.


	29. Healing the Breach

_Chapter 29: Healing the Breach_

**I** poked my head out of the little room Nathan had reserved for "our" use and whispered sharply, "Tom! Tom!"

My fiery-haired Irishman opened the door to the room lying opposite mine across the narrow, dark hallway, his hair rumpled and his eyes at half-mast.

"Aye?" he moaned, rubbing his forehead. "What is it, lass?" I took two furtive glances to my left and right before fully exiting the room and gently closing the door behind me.

"I need some laudanum," I said quietly, not looking him in the eye. I began to fidget, rolling back and forth on the soles of my sore feet.

"What the hell is that?" he answered crossly, the effects of his excessive alcohol assumption obviously getting the better of him.

"Just a drink," I shrugged innocently, leaning against the brittle, wooden door to my room and showing a thin smile.

"Whaddya need it for?" I exhaled a sigh at his persistence, knowing full well that I was wasting precious time. I needed that laudanum. And fast.

"Nate and I want somethin' to drink," I replied sincerely, almost laughing inside. My intent was not in the least bit honest.

Tom ceased rubbing his brow and looked directly at me, peering at me as seriousness shadowed his chiseled face. He took a step forward and glanced at the door behind me before returning his vision in my direction. I grinned at him.

"Astrid." His voice was near a growl as he spoke, and he raised his arm and pointed his index finger rigidly at the entrance to my room. "Your plan ain't gonna work on Nate, love."

"Plan?" I echoed, feigning ignorance as I curled my eyebrows at him. "What plan?" Tom rolled his eyes lightly and gently took my arm and pulled me aside, bending his head low so that his words would be sent to my ears and my ears only.

"If you plan on getting him dead drunk so ye don' have to sleep wit' him, then yer mistaken, Lassie. He'll know what yer up to."

"Nonsense," I muttered, disappointed that my intentions had been read so easily by a man I had barely known for a few months. If Tom could see what I had arranged to do, then there was the likely chance that Nate would also.

_Damn._

"Can't I just try it?" I pleaded, pouting and batting my eyelashes at him. He turned away in disgust and hobbled back over to his room. "Tom, please!"

He did not respond to my cry and simply disappeared into the darkness of his room, murmuring things to himself. I scowled and kicked at the wall, shooting jets of air out of my nose as I tried to get myself out of my current mess. Nathan had offered me an unprecedented five guineas to share a bed with him, far more than the first ten shillings he paid me just to talk. During that conversation, he simply asked me my name, my origin, my age, and other personal things of that sort. Of course, I told him all lies, except for my name, and some two weeks after that conversation, he came back, overjoyed to see me; and immediately—as soon as he walked into the tavern—his grey eyes locked on mine and into my hands he dumped a very heavy bag.

"Five guineas, lass," he puffed proudly, slipping his hand under my chin. "Tonight."

He sauntered away while my knees turned into jelly, and I almost felt like doubling over on the floor and retching. I couldn't think of a way to get out of sleeping with him, and I needed the money. The only way to hold onto what was left of my innocence was to somehow trick him, but my deceiving skills already proved ineffectual as I had been discovered as a girl and Mad Anne had duped me with her pirate cunning effortlessly.

My saving moment came just moments before Nate and I entered the reserved room, and I almost let it slip by screaming a boisterous, "Aha!" I remembered my studies with dear Cavanaugh and thus recalled the potency of laudanum, an alcoholic form of opium, a heavy sedative. I tittered evilly inside and couldn't wait to put my plan into action, but Tom had to refuse my wish, and I was back to square one, kicking and cursing at the wall.

"If you kick some more, you'll cause him to come out," said a voice behind me. I spun around and saw Tom again, a fat bottle in his hand.

"Is that…?" I began, surprised to see him come back to me.

"Yes, it is. You're lucky this place has a decent medicine chest." He handed the bottle to me, and my fingers instantly wrapped around the thin bottleneck.

"Thank God," I breathed. "I owe ye, dear Thomas."

"Yeah, I know," he smirked, tapping my nose with his finger. "An' you'll be payin' up tomorrow night. You an' I need to have a little chat."

"Oh_ God _no!" I gasped, and Tom shook his head again at me.

"Not_ that_, ye twit." I shut up sheepishly and figured that such a phrase would be common in any of our future conversations, and so I made it up in my mind to accept the insult whenever it came. "Honestly, we're gonna talk, love. Now hurry up with yer… thing."

"Will do, Tom." I nodded gratefully at him and went back into my room, coming face to face with the thick black darkness as I trapped myself once again in a box of trouble.

"Ye got me somethin' to drink, Astrid?" I heard Nate mumble from where the bed was supposed to be located.

"Aye, I did, lovey," I returned sweetly, making a dry, silent retch afterwards.

"Good. Bring it 'ere." Obediently, I went to him, fumbling my way through the black and being careful not to trip and drop the bottle of laudanum on the floor. If that happened, I would be doomed. What would I have him do if I did drop the bottle? Have him lick it off the floor?

_Now, where is that damn bed? I_ asked myself, still stumbling through the room. However, I didn't need to search any further. A strong arm encircled my waist and lugged me down onto a flat mattress, and a wet pair of lips magnetically adhered itself to my own. I pressed my lips tightly together to keep my mouth shut and to keep his tongue from ever poking in. My left hand was still grasping the laudanum bottle, and I was struggling to sit upright and roll him over so that I could pour the damn liquid down his sorry throat.

_Free your mouth, dammit!_ His kisses wouldn't end, and so I had no alternative but to kiss him back, and I almost vomited into his gob when his slimy tongue touched mine.

"Lift me up," I demanded in the short time allotted to me when he allowed me to breathe again. "I want a drink."

"But we're already drinking from the cup of love, my dear," he chuckled, coming down again._ Oh no you don't!_ I pushed him back with both of my hands and then swung my leg over his side as I pinned him down, with me sitting on his stomach and him grinning lustfully at me.

I popped the cork off of the bottle and brought it to my lips, pretending to drink and hoping to attract him into tasting some of it himself. My ploy worked and he sat up, his hand running up my leg, but his eyes gazing at the obtuse bottle in my hands.

"It'll make the kisses sweeter," I remarked, raising an eyebrow at his sudden interest in the mysterious beverage and popping the spout from my lips. "Open up; I'll let ye taste a drop." He now believed that I was playing a teasing little game with him before we actually performed what prostitutes were known to perform, and he opened his mouth, eager for his first and probably last dose of laudanum.

I beamed and carefully let a clear droplet of the alcoholic mixture touch his tongue, and he breathed onto my face as he relished the honeyed, saccharine flavor with a savage lick of his lips. "More?" I offered, laughing inside at his ridiculous rapture over such a concoction.

I didn't even wait for him to nod. I knew he wanted more, and so I let the mouth of the bottle touch his and soon he was snogging with the bottle, not me, and I was highly relieved. He quaffed down the liquid as if it was water and he smacked his lips as he came to the last remnants, his grey eyes now growing dull as the opium seeped into his veins.

"Let's have a kiss now, shall we?" he said drowsily, finding my lips again. I decided to kiss him readily, with the hope that I'd wear him out with a few passionate ones, and at one point, I even bit his tongue and he pushed me away, cursing.

"Damn, lass," he groaned, grimacing as he tasted his mouth for any traces of blood. I snickered softly.

"Can't take it?" I boasted, poking him in the chest. He swerved his head in my direction his jaw drooping and one of his eyelids closing.

"No," he snapped, rubbing both of his eyes as slumber met him fast. "I can take it," he insisted as he yawned. "Give me what ye got."

_All rightey then. You asked for it, you stupid dog._

I gripped his fine jaw and gave him such a kiss that I could feel him trying to pry me off. _Give up already, you fool._ At last, I let him go and his head sank into his pillow heavily. "Damn," he said again, looking even more exhausted than before.

_That's it. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep_. I chanted the word in my head as I waited impatiently for him to close his eyes already.

_"Lay with me," he ordered weakly. Too happy with the progress that I had made, I did so and wrapped my arms around him and then commenced to squeeze the air of him in a choking embrace._

"I said lay with me, not God damn_ kill_ me," he said bitterly, pushing me away a bit. But his shove was feeble, and I could sense the lethargy falling upon his limbs as he probably wondered why he had become so tired so swiftly. He wouldn't permit me to embrace him again, so he wrapped me loosely in his own arms, resting his head against the side of my face.

_He's going to do it, Astrid! Sleep, you bastard! Sleep, damn you! Sleep!_

He managed to caress my neck in the few moments of consciousness he had before his breathing pattern slowed dramatically and his grey eyes were closed and his dark eyelashes fluttered against my skin. I tapped his face lightly with my hand as I smiled in the darkness, proud of what I had done. I had gotten out of a night of foul play and got to keep my money. I almost wanted to celebrate by having a few of my own drinks, but I wisely decided not to.

I gently moved Nathan off of me and let him lie peacefully in his sleep, still fully garbed and fully sedated. As for me, I was still in my bawd wear, and I got up out of bed and hurried out of my room, calling for Tom again.

He came out more quickly and more alert than before, a candle in his hand as he opened his door for me. "What now?" he inquired.

"I have something to show you," I said, taking his hand and leading him into my room. I brought him over to where Nathan lied on the bed, his limbs sprawled and a delicate trail of drool beginning to leak out of the corner of his mouth.

"Hell, Astrid," chuckled Tom as he flicked Nathan's nose with his finger. Nathan didn't even flinch. "You actually did it. Well done, lass. Ye might want to kick him right in the family jewels jus' to make sure though."

I laughed and jabbed him in the ribs lightly with my elbow. "Nah," I happily declined. "I think he's fine."

"Fine, eh? He won't be fine in the mornin', I'll tell ye that. His wife would laugh at 'im if she saw how he got dead drunk by a little lass like you." My nose twitched as he said 'wife,' and without even knowing it, the blood had drained from my face.

"Wife!" I screeched, turning to Tom and slapping his shoulder. "He's_ married?"_

"Well… er…yes. Officially, yes, but not… truthfully," Tom replied, shooting a bitter look at me and then rubbing his shoulder. "He an' his wife were married 'bout a year ago, but neither of 'em are God damn loyal, Astrid. Why, his wife is off bein' pirate herself. But I don't think o' her kindly. She's a bitc—"

"She's a pirate?" I interrupted, my voice shivering. Cold sweat collected on the edges of my grimy brow and the only thing that I was thinking of at that moment was if his wife was, God forbid, Anne Flint.

"Aye," said Tom, turning around and preparing to leave me for the comfort and sleep of his own empty room. "But she's not liked 'ere. 'Specially by Jack. She's the one what stole his ship, which is why, like I tried to say before, she's a bitc—"

I let out such a horrified shriek that Tom jumped and spun around, dropping the candle in his hand and letting it fall clamorously to the wooden floor as he gawked at me, his green eyes wide and aflame with a mix of bewilderment and furious irritation.

"_What!_" he demanded irately. "What the hell is wrong with you, love?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I had just sunk myself deeper in the mud by getting Mad Anne's husband dead drunk with laudanum. When he woke up, he'd be sure to know that I was the one who tricked him and then he'd tell his dear wife, and she'd sail out to kill me, as if she wasn't already out to kill me from the beginning._ Oh, dammit, Astrid!_

My fingers had latched themselves to my lips as I chewed nervously at my nails, panic pumping through my body. I glanced over at Nate's insensate self and then I switched back to staring at some insignificant spot on the dusty floor as I tried to think of what to do. Now I couldn't stay in Tortuga any longer. If I did, Nate would ensure that he got what he paid for, which would only mean more disgrace for me, and if he didn't, then his wife would surely terminate me with a good pistol shot to my head.

"Astrid," I heard Tom say, but his voice seemed distant as it entered my ears, bouncing and echoing with fading gusto in the boundaries of my thick skull.

"I need to get out of here, Tom," I said at last, leaping for my small little sack of belongings hidden in one corner of the room. "I can't stay here anymore. I've only caused more trouble."

"What are you talkin' about?" Tom questioned, speculating my actions with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, don't you see it, you dense little Irish bastard!" I yelled, grabbing the sack and pulling out my tattered mid's uniform along with the new jacket and trousers I had managed to get back in Egypt. "Mad Anne's going to have my head!"

"What?" he squawked. He bent to pick up his dropped candle and stomped out the little flame that had started on the floor, and then he walked towards me, his relaxed manner still ruling his steps.

"I need to get out of here," I repeated, pulling the heavy skirt off of my hips and slipping into my more comfortable britches. I didn't mind if Tom was watching me. He didn't see anything. Just my under-drawers, which were poofy and uncomfortable as any other feminine article of clothing that I owned. I slipped my arms into my jacket and then scurried out of the room, ready to make a run to the dock and sneak onto a ship, but Tom caught the back of my collar and hauled me towards his own quarters, laughing at something to himself.

"Lass," he began, as he shut his door and gestured at a chair near a small table for me to sit at. Having no interest in talking but rather moving, I continued to stand, silently protesting my strong desire to leave the place and escape my very certain death. "Tell me what's going on."

"I told you, Tom," I returned bitterly, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Aye, you told me that you have to leave, but ye didn't tell me why." I hmph-ed and turned my back on him, glaring at the other side of the room.

"It's a long story," I mumbled.

"Well, we have the time. Let's hear it."

"No," I returned brusquely, looking at him as if he were mad to propose such a thing, but he only stared at me as if _I_ were lost in my bearings.

He laughed and raised his arms over his head, stretching as he yawned in the late hour of night, and I found myself unconsciously watching him, perhaps too keenly for my own good. He spotted me ogling at him and made me aware of what I was doing by sending me an unanticipated wink. The heat surged to my cheeks like water from a pump, and I looked down and turned away, bringing my palms to the sides of my face as I tried to hide my embarrassment.

"It's a long story," I uttered miserably, dropping my bottom in a stiff wooden chair. "There's a reason why I'm looking for Jack…"

"I could 'ave figured that, love," replied Tom, reaching for another chair and dragging it across the floor noisily beside me. He sat himself in it backwards and leaned forward in my direction. "I've been wonderin' 'bout it for ages now. I thought it was odd that ye never told me an' Cord why you was lookin' for the pirate."

"I would 'ave told you by now were it not for Cord because her story ain't much diff'rent from mine." Tom peered quizzically at me.

"Whaddya mean, lass?"

I sighed and fiddled with the cuffs and buttons of my jacket and soon my fingers were knotting themselves in my hair as I sought to go on with my confession. It was hard enough telling my naval comrades about why I was at sea, and I thought back then would be the only time I'd ever have to reveal my pirate ancestry. Unfortunately, I feared that my little adventures would be told for many a time in the near future.

"Oh c'mon, Astrid," Tom pressed, swatting my shoulder gently. "Out with it."

"Don't tell Cord," I said, giving him a leveled look. I was dead serious about it. His lips slipped into a neat and purely mischievous smile, and I couldn't help but show off my own pert grin at him.

"Not a word, love," he answered.

_"Well, ye know me name, Tom," _I started,_ "My first name. Though, I never told ye my surname. So let me start with my full identity. I am, and will forever be, Astrid Jacqueline Sparrow…"_

I waited patiently in the dying hours of night, my head resting against the panel of a door as I waited for Tom to come out, laden with the bags and bags of money fraudulent little Priscilla stowed away in her "secret" little hidey-hole. However, apparently she had graciously allowed Tom in her room more than once, and with her off in some other room in bed with some other man, he took advantage of the liberty and knowledge given to him and snuck into her room and filched her profit. More importantly, he was risking his Irish behind for me.

He had come to know my true origins, although a bit shocked to accept them at first, and he agreed to get me the hell out of Tortuga as soon as possible, but Cord would have to come with us. She was, after all, under his supervision, and despite his free and easy ways with women and morals, he knew that Cord was always top priority. Well, usually.

I backed my elbow into the door and hit it hard enough to make it jolt. "Hurry it up, ye slo—" The door gave way behind me and I nearly fell back, only to be stopped by the lean mass of Tom O'Brien, with money bags in arms.

"If you wanna be the pirate, you do the hardwork." Without a warning, he shoved the jingling sacks into my hands and I nearly collapsed from the weight he dumped into my arms. I gave a yelp and crumbled to my knees, my skinny, frail arms struggling to keep the bags from tipping over and spilling all their wonderful, golden contents onto the floor in a hideous clatter

"Tom," I rasped, my face growing red as I tried to hold onto my poorly stolen treasure. He rolled his eyes at me and relieved me of my burden and I got up to my feet again and thanked him as sweetly as I could. He didn't buy my falsehood for one second.

"Let's go get Cord. She'll be with her grandmum."

And so we snuck out of the whorehouse and lurked about through Tortuga town until we reached Cord's grandmum's little, quaint abode. I was glad to find that the house was a bit on the outskirts of the foul establishment and I judged that Cord's grandmum was a nice, decent lady. Little did I know that she was far more than that.

"You want to take Cordelia?" asked the old, thin woman who answered the door after Tom and I rapped a few times on its surface.

"The things is, Esmée," began Tom, speaking before I could even introduce myself, "is that I'm leavin' tonight an' if I leave, Cord needs to come with me."

"So soon?" replied Esmée passively, stepping aside and making room for us to go through, although Tom had no intention to go in. He wanted to get Cord and then spend the rest of the few hours left of night to steal a ship.

Esmée had a silk, orange scarf tied around her graying wavy hair, and she had a golden hoop looped through her left earlobe and her dark eyes and brows reminded me of Ana Maria's own defined visage. She dressed in bold, bright colors, and by the amount of gold jewelry she wore, I took it that she wasn't a pirate like her daughter.

"Please," implored Tom, shifting the bags of money in his arms. "We need to leave tonight."

"Come in for a moment, young man," she responded, almost sternly, like an order. Surprisingly, Tom interpreted it as a demand and walked in with little hesitation. I was reluctant to follow, considering that Esmée didn't even know me.

"You too, child," she added, glancing quickly at me and beckoning me in with her hand. I obeyed and went in, and she closed the door behind me.

"Tom, you can wake Cord. She's in her room. Upstairs," Esmée directed, not even looking at him. She acted as if Tom came by every week to wake up Cord in the middle of the night and take her out to sea.

Tom set our money on the ground and then scurried up the steps, leaving me with Esmée who had now fixed her dark eyes on me.

"What is your name, girl?" she asked, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. She did not speak crossly or fiercely at me. In fact, her tone seemed to be fully influenced by sincere curiosity, and I warily answered, still feeling out of place in her home.

"Astrid, Ma'am."

"Ah." She smiled as she looked down and walked closer to me, her steps slow and steady. "I can see it now. You have your mother's face."

"You know my mother?" The question came out before I even knew what I was saying.

"Yes, I knew your mother. You resemble her fully in face and form. Big things await you as her daughter." I cocked an eyebrow at her and she chuckled at me, uncrossing her arms and letting them fall to her sides.

"How on earth could you predict that? Or are you just trying to get me hopeful?" I returned, a bit unnerved with her laughter. She did not know me. She did not know why I was going out to sea. She did not kn—

"I know, Astrid," she answered, looking at me with an omniscient stare. "It's my practice, child. It's what I do. And your life, my dear, will be far from… what would you call it? Ah, yes, dull."

"Do you know if I'll meet my father?" I posed tremulously, believing her unsupported wisdom. I began to understand what her profession was. She was a fortuneteller, a gypsy, a palm reader.

"Very soon," she said. "Very soon."

She said no more afterwards. Tom had gone down the stairs, a barely conscious Cord lying sleepily in his arms.

"Hullo, Astrid," Cord greeted meekly, waving her little brown hand at me.

"You three troublemakers go now," Esmée allowed, opening the door and ushering us out. "Dawn is coming."

With Tom carrying Cord, and me back to lugging along our stolen goods, we exited Esmée's home and headed for the docks, our eyes already aiming for the perfect vessel to steal—or rather,_ commandeer._

Cord shoved her doll in my face, whining to me about how her hair was not perfectly arranged in the latest French fashion. I issued a soft moan at her whimpers and took the doll and gave Cord the look of, 'You cannot expect me to do this for you every day.' She only humored me with her toothy, wicked grin—something I was sure she learned from Jack—and sat beside me on the deck, instructing me on how to precisely make her doll (which she named Jacinth) the most beautiful miniature version of a French noblewoman.

While I was fussing with the strands of yarn sprouting from Jacinth's wooden head, I stole a glance at Tom who stood at the wheel, whistling as he lazily tipped the wheel larboard or starboard in accordance with our wind, which we had plenty of.

"How ya doin' over yonder, Tommy?" I called, giggling to myself afterwards. His red head turned to look back at us, his eyes squinting as the sunlight streamed onto his face.

"Jus' fine, Missy! You two can go on playin' with yer little dolls instead of mindin' the sails like I asked you to."

_"Tais-toi!"_ Cord groused, making a face at his turned back_. "Faites-le vous-même."_

_I_ snorted with laughter at the insults she threw at him, but Tom continued to mind his own, his hands still lightly on the wheel and his hair in the wind.

"It's a good thing I don't know a goddamn thing yer sayin', little Cordelia," voiced Tom. "I wouldn't want to speak that vulgar French tongue anyway."

Cord sucked in a breath and raised her finger to fire another counterattack in French, but she stopped and turned her attention back to her doll, her lips smiling as she observed any improvement in Jacinth's appearance.

"I could have said more," she told me, pointing to a misplaced hair that I needed to fix. "But it will go nowhere. I will make fun of him in French, and he will bark back in Gaelic, and no sense will come out of it."

"And I'll make fun of you both in good ol' English!" I cheered, whooping afterwards. Cord scrunched her nose up at me and shook her head.

"French, Irish, English… all on the same boat."

"_Ship,_" I corrected, and then suggesting afterwards, "We should make a flag." Cord beamed at the silly idea.

"We can call ourselves…" She paused and thought. "_Irefrancitain_!"

"_Ire-hell-a-what?_" yelled Tom, overhearing our conversation.

Cord and I only laughed at him and continued to talk amongst ourselves. A fat, gust of wind blew alongside our boat and poor Jacinth's hair came all undone again, and while Cord fussed and cried at all the hard work gone to waste, I looked aft and met another gust as it smacked me in the face. I whistled to Tom and he turned back, seeming to understand the concern I had on my face.

"I know, Astrid," he said, his grip on the wheel getting tighter. "It'll be a rough night."

I slid across the deck and rammed into the larboard railing, scowling as my shoulder banged against the lumber. A wave reared up on the starboard side of the ship and smashed down, sending a rushing current streaming down the deck and whacking me again as I tried to get back on my feet.

"Tom!" The ship teetered back and forth, always switching from one dangerous angle to another, and I could barely keep up with the consistent fluctuation of our poor, battered cutter. Rain bombarded the deck in sharp, stinging little blows and to make matters worse, we lost our only lantern to the waves and were sailing in the pitch darkness.

"Get below, Astrid!" he ordered, at the wheel and using every bit of his sailor knowledge to get the boat to stay upright.

"The sails!" I shrieked. "We need to reef 'em or the masts'll break!"

"Are you mad, woman!" he bellowed, spinning his head towards me, his head drenched in the saltwater. "Ye can't balance yerself up there. Ye'll fall off an' I can't save ye. Cord's still below prolly curled up in a ball o' fear an' I'm not gonna be havin' you drowned at sea, all right?"

"I've been at sea too, Tom!" I persisted, grabbing one side of the wheel and holding tight as another inky black wave clawed at our boat. I heard wood crack. _Uh oh…_

"Sod off, Astrid, for God's sake!" He shoved me aside as the wave receded. However, he judged his action poorly, for as soon as he pushed me, the ship tilted in the direction I was pushed in, and gravity pulled me down, letting me tumble back now to the _starboard_ railing, which I hit with a loud thump as I met the bark with my back.

With a growl, I stumbled back onto my feet and dashed for the rigging, ready to climb up the one mast of our ship and roll up her ripping sails.

"Astrid!"

_Too late. This ship isn't going to go anywhere but to the depths of the sea if I don't reef her sails._

I leapt onto the ratlines and started climbing, though the ropes had gone pretty slick from the rain, and I wasn't exactly paying attention to my footing. Luckily, I managed to reach the yardarm and hooked my feet onto the horseline, bent over and started hauling up the soaked sails, with Tom still yelling for me to get the hell down from where I was.

A dagger of lightning flashed from the sky and struck the sea with a blinding light, and a rumble of thunder boomed overhead, drowning out Tom's curses.

Then I heard another, but very profound, _crack_.

"Dammit!" I squealed, feeling the yardarm wiggle a bit. I tried to calm my racing mind by reminding myself that it was just the wind. I was fine and I was almost finished anyway so I could go down soon and everything would be fine and—

_Crrack!_

I let out a piercing scream and stupidly decided that I had done all I could and was no longer safe—_Wrong, you idiot. You were never safe—_and proceeded to descend. Only, my limbs had gotten so shaky that I was making slow progress, and my Irishman had to come get me, even though he was already on his way up to slap sense into me for disobeying his orders.

He was already up the ratlines when I was trying to get down and he grabbed my ankle and yanked firmly, purposefully making me lose my footing. I slid down and he caught me and then had me clinging to his side as he brought me down to deck, but he wasn't very happy about doing it.

"I told you to get down below with Cord!" he shouted, pushing me towards the hatchway. I looked over at the wheel and of course, no one was controlling it, and the fear in my gut only sharpened.

"But—"

He would have none of my ripostes and dragged me down to the captain's cabin, where he swung open the door and shoved me through.

"You stay there. Both of you." And then he turned away, muttered a brutal, "_Dammit!_" and shut and locked the door.

Cold and dripping wet, I realized the absurdity of my actions and felt like a lump of uselessness again. My nose ran with snot and I wiped my face with my drenched arm sleeve. Cord came up beside me and hugged me closely, burying her face in my shoulder.

"Astrid," she wept. Another boom of thunder pounded through the sky and she shuddered. "I'm scared, Astrid. I'm scared."

And then came the last and final, _crrrrack!_

_Oh God…_

Tom barged back into the cabin shortly after, his green eyes bright with fear.

"We lost our mast. This ship is done for," he said breathlessly, searching the meager cabin for our belongings. Cord howled hysterically. "Hush now, Cord," he ordered, getting our stuff along with a coil of rope.

"What are you doing?" I asked, rising and trying to get Cord to stop crying.

"What does it look like I'm doing? This ship is not going to last, Astrid. We need to be ready should she sink." He dug through our stuff and tossed out a few things. Cord's doll including one of them.

"No!" she wailed, reaching for her toy, but Tom wouldn't let her have it.

"You hold onto your clothes only, love. Your other things will sink you." She only cried harder.

"What's the rope for?" I questioned, taking it from him.

"Tie our wrists together, so we don't get separated. Here." He crouched and slipped a small knife from his boot and handed it to me. I cut two pieces of rope from the coil and commenced to tie one end of both pieces to each of Cord's wrists. The other end of one I tied to Tom's wrist and then Tom tied the end of the other rope to mine.

"All tied and secure?" he asked me, looking at the bonds. He smiled a bit at them. Sailor's knots. "Good. Grab your belongings and hold onto each other. The rest of our voyage won't be so pretty."

I nodded and Cord clung to me again, murmuring her wishes into my side: _Come find us, Daddy, please. Come find us and take us away…_

"Go ahead, poke her. She's wakin' anway." The voice was soft in my ears, but I could discern that thick Irish brogue anywhere. _So we're not dead after all?_

The next person to speak, however, did not have a voice I recognized in the least bit. It was a male voice, that was true, and it was heavy with a defined accent—neither English, neither Irish nor American, but definitely an accent of some sort. It was low, and by his tone, slightly confused or mystified. My eyelid twitched as I tried to figure out who was looking at me.

"A bit edgy, isn't she?" There was a pause, and then, "It's a she, isn't it?"

"Oh no, Cap'n. It ain't a she. _That_ face, truly, is one of clear masculinity." Tom laughed at his own sarcasm. "Masculinity my arse."

_Well, I never…_

Tom's jeers once again provoked me to arouse my weakly conscious self and I pried an eyelid open, only to catch a glimpse of a tanned, bearded, and beaded face.

I screamed.

"_Get away!_" I found that I sat in a hammock, and I seized the pillow supporting me and raised it to beat the odd-looking, dreadlock-haired, golden-toothed, dark-eyed, red-bandana-wearing, big hatted, ring-wearing—My hands unclenched and my eyes had now settled on his bemused expression, wide and unblinking.

I sat, mouth a-gape and a likely trail of drool leaking out at the corner as I gawked at the man who stood in front of me. I heard Tom chortle.

"Lass," said Tom, coming over and laying his hand on my shoulder. "_This_," he gestured at the pirate before me with a bow, "_is Captain Jack Sparrow_."

_Oh. Great. God._

And the immortal Captain Jack Sparrow lifted his hat, brought his hands in a prayer-like fashion, nodded and said:

"You look somewhat familiar. Have I threatened you before?"


	30. Secrets Written in Gold

_Chapter 30: Secrets Written in Gold_

**J**ack very soon discovered the reason _why_ I looked "somewhat familiar" to him, and it didn't come very easily either. When confronted with the dilemma of explaining to him who I was in terms of origin, I decided that coming out bluntly with the fact would be best. I'd do no good making him all the more befuddled by trying to describe my pirate ancestry in little, awkward hints.

I began by telling him about my lovely foster parents, William and Elizabeth Turner. As I anticipated, their names rung a bell, but the chime made in Jack's head related in no way whatsoever to my existence, and so I was forced to explain that he dropped me off at their house more than a decade ago.

At that, he paused in his musings and brought a finger to his lip, which eventually began to tap against his skin as he tried to recollect such an event.

"In Port Royal," he murmured, and I nodded eagerly.

"Yes! Port Royal! _Now,_ do you remem—"

I was interrupted by his sudden 'Eureka' cry (although he didn't say _eureka_ per se. His motions were equivalent to a Eureka moment), and his finger was raised into the air as if he was finally about to announce a great, unprecedented discovery. Only, his brows furrowed in the midst of his awakening and his finger slumped down again, dwindling in his failure to remember my name.

I huffed as my patience wore thin.

"It begins with an—"

"No, no," he told me, waving his finger at my nose and squinting at my puckered face as he thought. He began to mumble to himself a list of various words beginning with 'A,' and I was at least content that he could recall that my name did in fact begin with the first letter of the alphabet.

After a grueling hour (or what seemed like one), Jack finally hit upon my name, and I stopped him from making anymore guesses by screaming, "YES! THAT'S IT!" For I had honestly heard enough of all the 'A'-words he was voicing. (—_Astro?... Asshole?... Asinine?... Assart?... Assizer?... Astrophile?... Astringe?—)_

And after he had said my name once, he continued to say it, almost squawking it like a parrot—"Astrid? Astrid? _As_-_trid_?"—as if it was foreign to him, which without a doubt it was. He probably hadn't even thought of me for, well, over a decade (which he had yet to discover was all at his doing, not mine).

The more he said my name, however, the more he began to realize _why_ he had left me in the first place, and after enunciating my name for about, say, seventy times, he finally turned to me and said, very seriously, "I left you in Port Royal so that you _wouldn't_ follow me, love."

And I answered his frank solemnity with a rebellious insistence.

"Oh, I know that, Jack," I beamed, placing my hands on my hips and straightening my back as far as my confidence would allow me. "But you should have known when ye left me that pirate is in me blood and that I'd end up going to sea whether you liked it or not."

He did not seem to appreciate the defense for my cause, and he frowned at me, showing that same unreadable frown on his face that drove me nuts as a baby. I could never tell if he was serious or joking, and I still couldn't.

"What?" I said, glowering back at him. "Why are you looking like that at me?"

"You're not made up _all_ of pirate, lass," he answered, turning around and sauntering out of the cabin we were in.

_Ooh, don't even remind me…_ I moaned inwardly, looking down at myself and remembering the horrible weeks in Tortuga, not to mention the living nightmare with Griffith on the _Resolve_.

"And that gave you reason to desert me?" I challenged, running after him. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to fit into a place like Port Royal? At sea, I'm more comfortable than I have ever been!"

"Just exactly how did you get here? Don't dear William and his darling Elizabeth know you've run away?" he brought up, ignoring my question by putting out his own as he meandered his way up to the quarterdeck of his small ship, whipping his head around (and his thick dreadlocks too for that matter) as he spoke to me.

"I'll tell you if you tell me why you left me," I grumped, crossing my arms over my chest as I stood beside him at the helm.

His hands held naturally onto the wheel with an easy, all-knowing grip and his dark eyes had now shifted away from me and back onto the distant horizon. I glanced over at what he was looking at, just to try to understand what he could have found so enchanting about the limitless sea, and I found nothing that I hadn't already seen. Nothing but the pale, rosy sky hovering above the black horizon line where the sun was sinking slowly below.

"I already did," he answered, raising an eyebrow as he briefly glimpsed at me from the side. "I didn't plan on ye bein' pirate. I don't think yer mum would 'ave wanted it anyway."

"You should have known that my profession would have been inevitable. I _am_ your daughter, Jack. Hear the word: _daugh-ter_."

"Surprisingly, that really shouldn't mean anythin', love. I mean, look at Cord." He nodded over at Cord's small figure at the waist of his ship, her arms twirling a new doll around and around until she got so dizzy that she fell back on her bum. I snorted and peered at Jack irritably from the corner of my eye, a retort already forming on my lips.

"Oh, I looked. She acts jus' like you. Always so disoriented that she falls back like a _drunk pirate_. She grins like ye too. Wide and toothy. Jus' because she don't wanna be pirate doesn't mean you can't tell she's a Sparrow." And as soon as I said that, I caught my own mistake and felt my face glow red.

_Oh damn, Astrid. Why do you always have to prove your own self wrong?_ My humiliation was so heavy that I had the urge to slap my forehead numerous times, and I deemed that my face was as brightly hued as a ripe apple.

But Jack didn't pay heed to my embarrassment, or at least, he didn't act like he did. He didn't augment my humiliation by saying, "I told you so," either. He just stood at the wheel, humming what I knew to be "A Pirate's Life for Me," and after a few minutes, my cheeks cooled down, the embarrassing blush flowing away like a smooth current of seawater.

"Will you get rid of me again then?" I asked, not knowing that my voice was growing bitterer with ever word I uttered. "Will you drop me back in Port Royal like you did over a decade ago? _Hmm?_"

"Hell no, love," he chuckled, unfazed by my mockery. "Tom 'ere has told me that _you_ have got yerself in as big a mess with Mad Anne as I have. I can't let ye leave now. We share a common problem."

"Really?" I gasped, any negative feeling I had toward Jack vaporizing into the air. "I can stay?"

"As long as ye tell me where Mad Anne is headed," he replied, and I stopped giggling with joy and fell silent again. _There's always gotta be a catch, doesn't it?_

"Where Anne is headed?" I echoed, confused. "Why?" He rolled his eyes minutely and groaned a bit, as if he was regretting my being allowed to stay on board.

"So I can take back _my_ ship." He said it almost as if it was something any old fool would know and should know. It was no surprise that I felt sheepish again and I responded with my trite, "Oh."

"Don't tell me ye were on _my_ ship an' didn't even find out where she was headed, Astrid." I faced him with a nervous smile and a weak, broken chortle.

_So much for being a pirate, Astrid…_

_"_So much for being a pirate, love," he said softly, more to himself than to me. I almost laughed at our nearly identical thoughts.

"She took everything I had," I grumbled. "And she also has Will and Elizabeth's son." His eyebrows rose up at that.

"She's holdin' the Turners' boy hostage?"

"I'm not sure. She could be or Roland could have joined her crew." And I honestly prayed that it was the former. If Roland joined Mad Anne's crew, what would I tell Elizabeth and Will? I would have allowed their only son to become the right hand man of the cruelest witch of the sea!

"Damn." Jack's curse was what plucked me out of my worries, and I questioned his frustration.

"Damn what?" He didn't answer me directly. Instead, he called for Tom to take over the wheel, and he stepped aside and nudged me off the quarterdeck. Tom took command of the wheel and winked at me as Jack and I departed, and I sighed without even knowing it.

It only occurred to me after I had made cow-eyes at Tom that Jack was looking at me with an I-can't-believe-she-is-doing-that face, and he did not hesitate to drag me off the quarterdeck and down to the waist, muttering, "Pirate, not so much. Sparrow, undeniable. Tortuga wench? Very much like her mum indeed."

Upon reaching the waist, Cord happily trotted to us, still humming and dancing with her new doll. "I got a new one, Astrid!" she giggled, presenting her toy to me eagerly. "I named her Gabrielle and she ain't gonna drown in a storm as Jacinth did." At the mentioning of her lost, submerged doll, Cord sent a dark glare in Tom's direction and I knew the Irishman was simply grinning back at her despite her grudge.

"Cord, love," began Jack, interrupting our little exchange of doll-talk, "Lemme talk t'Astrid for a while an' then ye can play dollies with her all ye want." My face dropped.

"But—" He winked at me to hush my big mouth and I pouted and kept quiet.

"But Astrid doesn't even like dressies, Jack," Cord piped up. "I dunno if she'll play dollies with me."

"Oh, she will. An' then she'll teach ye a game called Sharky. Now, go on." Cord gave Jack a quick squeeze around his middle and then went back to twirling back and forth with her doll on the opposite side of the deck.

"Right…" I mumbled, trying to sort out a proper way to get Jack to explain what the hell happened in his life over the past decade. "So how exactly did ye lose the _Pearl_ to Anne?"

"It's quite a long story, love, worthy of a long meeting with the bottle." At that, he took out a little container of rum and popped the spout into his mouth. "Ye want some?" he asked, speaking through the bottle spout after he saw me shaking my head at him.

"No," I answered sharply. "Well, not right now at least. Too early. You're getting off topic again."

"Well, whaddya want me to tell ye, lass?"

"You're actually asking me what I want to hear?" I told him, surprised that he'd be willing to reveal his story to me.

He shrugged and gave a subtle nod. "We have the time. You might as well hear it."

"All right then, Jack Sparrow—"

"_Captain_," he corrected.

"Fine. So tell me, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow," I rolled my eyes as he beamed when I said it. "Tell me how you came about to your current position, why you have a second daughter, and how in the blazes you got such a lovely first mate, and I'll tell you how I came to know who you are, how I got to sea, and why Mad Anne wants my head. Savvy?" He squinted at me as he raised his eyebrows and removed the rum bottle from his lips.

"Do you mean now, at this moment, precisely at this time?" he asked, seeking clarification.

"Oh, yes. Yes, I do. I forgot to add that in. Forgive me."

"Well, then Miss Sparrow," he started, his hands slipping into his coat pockets as he began to wander away. "It all began, simply, over one thing."

"And that thing would be?"

"A bottle of rum."

_Great…_

It just so happened to be that Jack had lost his ship to Mad Anne due to his undying infatuation with a particularly spicy alcoholic beverage commonly referred to as rum. Consequently, that particularly soothing drink caused him to be too openly forward with his own secret plans, and those plans, in turn, led Mad Anne to learn about a treasure that she, in her naturally avaricious self, just _had_ to get her greedy little hands on. So, what did the clever wench _do_?

She got Jack drunk. She got Jack to spill out the secrets of the treasure (and where those secrets were located). And she got Jack's ship while he was passed out on the floor of a Tortugian tavern. _How lovely, Daddy…_

And it was no surprise to him that Anne would do such a thing. Of course, she was a wench and she was a pirate, but her dislike of Jack had run further back than that. The specific bit of news that followed in Jack's rather long anecdote almost made my heart stop.

Mad Anne was my mother's closest friend, and in addition to that, she was the person who named me. _Me_. Dammit.

"But I thought you said that my mother named me!" I shrieked, refusing to accept that crazy Anne, who, mind you, still had Roland under her grasp, had given me my birth name. To think of it! I almost wanted to be named something else. I'd even settle with Fat-Manure-Cow Sparrow rather than Astrid Sparrow after learning that Anne had christened me.

"The thing is, Astrid—" I cut him off there.

"Call me Fat-Manure-Cow," I groused.

"All right. The thing is, Fat-Manure-Cow, your mum developed childbed fever after she birthed you, an' she was so sick that she hadn't the sense to name ye properly. An' if you want to know all the facts, 'Astrid' was yer mum's name. And to continue with the specifics, yer mum died the day Anne named you. Now, Fat-Manure-Cow, d'ye still want me to call ye that?"

"No," I returned meekly, crossing my arms over my chest as I murmured my incessant complaints to myself.

"Now, considerin' that Anne was yer mum's best mate, well, it was no wonder that when I _did_ return to Tortuga that she gave me a hell of a lecture. 'Course, I never listened to her. She even held ye in her arms as she screamed and shrieked and shrilled at me for not bein' there when yer mum gave birth to ye."

"That doesn't surprise me," I murmured. He heard my mockery and set his stare straight onto my cantankerous visage.

"Don't you be turnin' into Mad Anne, too, love," he said, his voice low. I relaxed my furrowed brows and released a short sigh to indicate that I had forgiven him for his neglect, and he continued with his story. "Finding me incapable of takin' care of a fat, little babe, Anne thought it would be best if she raised you herself. Though, I weighed the sides of your background: pirate versus wench, and I decided that pirate seemed the…_better_ path. Anne immediately protested the option of me taking you on board the _Pearl_."

"But she's a pirate now. Why would she want to keep me with her and on land?" I asked, not really knowing what else to say after hearing that I had just narrowly missed being Anne's adopted daughter.

"That comes later, love," Jack explained, stopping to drink some more. "I _let_ her think that she was going to be yer new foster mum and managed to convince her to take a few drinks. She went out like a light (she doesn't hold her liquor very well), and when she was nappin', I took ye and off we went."

"Oh…" I said, "so that's how I came to be on the _Pearl_ and that's also probably why Anne hates yer sorry little pirate-y innards!"

"…Aye…" said Jack hesitantly. "Well, anyway, I soon realized that takin' care of the likes o' you was no easy task. I barely got any sleep the first week I took you on board and my crew was so irritated that that they considered a mutiny. But I wasn't going to give ye back to Anne. That was out of the question. I knew she was already scheming up a way to get back at me for takin' away her dreams of bein' a mum and so I couldn't take you back. You stayed… for five years, until I thought I'd go mad if I kept you on board any longer."

"Jack!" I shrieked, swatting his arm. "How could you have thought of me as such a burden! I couldn't help it! I—"

"I put you in good hands, didn't I?" he returned, defending his reasons. "Ye fell in love with Elizabeth and Will, didn't ye? An' ye got a playmate too along with a good house, good parents and probably anything else you could ever want."

"So why did you decide to keep Cord and not me!" I yelled. "What was different?"

"Cord's mum was still alive. I had help. Ana Maria's mum could take care of Cord in her early years in Tortuga. The only reason she knows I'm her dad is because I was obliged to visit her. Otherwise, Ana Maria would berate me and her mum might even put a curse upon me. With you, I had no options."

"Why didn't you visit me then?" I posed softly.

"If I did, I'd probably be dead by now. It was hard enough trying to sneak you into Port Royal. If I had to do that every time I went to see ye, the blasted commodore would have figured out that I was there."

"Did you ever plan on taking me back when I was older?"

He scratched his head at that and looked away, trying to hide his guilty expression. _Oh, I see what yer doin', Daddy, and it's not gonna work this time. No, it ain't._ And in went the spout of his rum bottle into his mouth as he avoided my glare.

"You didn't. I knew it!"

"Well, we're here together again, so why argue!" he cheered, showing off his cheeky grin again. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to get off this subject and move to the topic of treasure and how to get my ship back."

"You didn't tell me how you got such a lovely first mate," I added, grinning mischievously.

"I'm afraid that when you're on my ship, lass, you're going to have to be pirate, not Tortuga wench. What is this? A floating brothel?" That earned him another swat.

"Fine. So what's this deal with the treasure, eh? An' how are we gonna get your ship back?"

"I'm glad you asked, love," he smiled. "The story begins with but one thing—"

"Ooh! Let me guess!" I said, with false bravado. "Rum."

"Actually, no," said Jack. "But good guess. The tale starts with a pirate named Calico Jack…"

"Eleventy-one, eleventy-two, eleventy-three…"

"Cord, it's one hundred eleven, one hundred twelve, and one hundred thirteen, not eleventy-whatever," I said, shaking my head at her as I faked some rope.

"I like eleventy," she replied proudly. "An' now I lost count, Astrid." Her hands remained motionless as she sought to remember which number she was on as she brushed her doll's yarn hair with a wooden comb.

"You were on eleventy three, sister."

"Aye, that I was. _Merci_, _ma soeur_." And with that, she slowly coasted into song:

"_Chante rossignol, chante,  
Toi qui as le cœur gai  
Tu as le cœur à rire,  
Moi je l'ai à pleurer_

_Il y a longtemps que je t'aime  
Jamais je ne t'oublierai_

_Sous les feuilles d'un chêne,  
Je me suis fait sécher  
Sur la plus haute branche,  
Un rossignol chantait…"_

"Now what are you singing this time and why do you always drift off into French?" I grumped, frustrated that I could not understand the words to a very melodious tune. Her songs reminded me too much of Bennett.

She paused in her singing and looked up at me as she sat on the deck, cradling her doll in her arms.

"I was born in France, Astrid," she beamed. "It is my country." _So that's the reason for her Napoleon worship, _I thought. However, I tossed away the prejudice after I realized that she was indeed my half-sister and that blood was always thicker than water. Though, if Roland were with me, he probably would have burned from the mentioning of a French citizen. Of course, after he saw little Cord, he'd probably soften up. She was too sweet to harm anyone with her adoration for her country. I might have not praised Great Britain as highly as she eulogized France, but we were proud to be what we were.

"So how did you learn the language? I tried learning it when I had a governess (and don't you ever get one for your daughter when you grow up) and it's such a difficult tongue." I sat cross-legged beside her on the deck and place my chin in my hands as my elbows rested on my legs.

"I began learning it as soon as I was born. My _grand-mère, _talked to me mostly in French. I only started learning English when I came back onto Jack's ship. I should teach you French. It might come in handy if we go to Paris."

_No way in hell am I gonna find myself in Paris_. But for Cord's sake, I kept my smile.

"Just teach me the French songs you sing." She looked puzzled at my request and so calmly said in reply:

"But Astrid, you sing horribly." It was no surprise that directly afterwards, I chased her around the deck, stole her doll and threatened to toss it overboard. Her reaction, however, was far worse than I had expected and she wailed when I dared to throw Gabrielle away. Jack, Ana Maria and Tom came running to her aid and I was forced to step down.

_Little sisters…_

To prevent any further doll threats, Jack proposed that I join his and Tom's discussion over how to pursue Calico Jack's treasure.

The rings that Jack had mentioned before turned out to hold the map coordinates to the gold's location. He knew, from some "unidentified" sources (whatever the hell that was supposed to mean), that the coordinates would be somewhere in the territory of the Bermuda Triangle, and that with the rings in Anne's possession, she'd be preparing her crew (and Jack's ship) for whatever danger lied ahead of them on the course to find the treasure. That, Tom pointed out, would buy time to gather a larger crew, to take on a larger ship, and to reclaim the _Pearl_ for Jack. When I asked why he had to have the _Pearl_ in order to find some dead pirate's blasted treasure, Jack just gave me one of his Am-I-Speaking-to-a-Simpleton? faces, and I had no choice but to stand down again.

"Where are we going to get more men and how are we going to find out where Anne is? And don't forget that I need to rescue Roland… or at least… convince him to break away from Anne's bewitching clutch," I reminded to Jack as our brief meeting broke up. He was headed back for the helm as I spoke.

"Anne's crew is quite talented, I'd say," replied Jack. "Which means we'll be needin' to get a talented crew of our own. We're headed for New Orleans."

"New Orleans?" I squawked, fed up with the French motifs running around the ship.

"_That's French!_" screamed Cord from afar. I could see her waving her arms wildly above her curly head as she ran to us for a confirmation.

"Why New Orleans? You plan on getting us a whole French crew?" I groaned.

"Now, don't be sour, love. New Orleans may be a French establishment, but it's right by Spanish territory and American territory. We'll get the best of the best that way. That, and it's only a couple of days away."

"I've basically done nothing for the past few days, Jack. All I've done is idle work. I can't stand doing idle work anymore. I did it enough on a warship!"

"I can't give ye special privileges 'cause you're me daughter, lass. I don't think you're ready yet."

"Can I take command of the ship you're going to get as soon as we get a bigger crew?"

"Are ye mad!"

"What? I know enough!"

Tom laughed from behind us. _I'm going to kill you, you Irish bastard…_

"Astrid," began Tom between his spurts of laughter. "All of the pirates on this ship have more than six years sailing experience. How many have you, bonnie lass?"

I looked down as my face flushed.

"Two," I uttered meekly.

"Ah, two. Well, I'm afraid you're either gonna need to prove you are ready or just stick with what we tell ye to do? Savvy? Good. That's a good gal." He patted my shoulder before heading off the helm and down to the lower decks. I looked at Jack to reconsider but he just shrugged his shoulders at me.

_Oh, things are never ever easy, are they, Astrid? _I scowled as I leaned over the larboard railing. _Oh, well… when in vain, blame the French…sorry, Cord._


	31. New Orleans

_Chapter 31: New Orleans_

**M**y temper was getting the better of me as I stood by the starboard ratlines, faking some rope while glaring furiously at Tom's turned back. I had confronted him about the dull busywork he had assigned me, and he merely waved me off and told me to fake some rope—a task which I had already completed nearly two hundred times in the few days it took us to reach New Orleans. In fact, rope faking and shot scaling was all I basically did all day. I even had it better off in the Navy. At least there I was an officer, or rather, if I hadn't been discovered I'd still be an officer.

_Bugger_.

"I demand a new duty, ye bloody Irish—"

"Would you like to be disciplined in the good ol' Navy way, lass?" Tom interrupted, facing me with his arms crossed. I snorted at him and took a step to the side, hoping to catch Jack's attention from his place at the wheel. Unfortunately, the old man had his eyes on the sea. I should have known better.

"We're not in the Navy, ye worthless lobcock! And I'll scrag your fine Irish neck if you tell me to fake rope or scale a shot one more _bloody_ time! I've barely been on board for a week and already I hate it because of you and your stupid orders!" By then I was heaving with ire and one word out of Tom's mouth would have been enough to have me combust.

"You must speak more softly, Astrid," said an innocent voice. I turned around and saw Cord coming up from underhatches, surprisingly with no doll in hand. "Gabrielle is sleeping." Her sweet childishness, however, would not save her from my wrath this time and I sent her a look for her unreasonable request.

"I think someone is nearing her time, isn't she?" Tom commented with a chuckle as he ushered Cord away from me.

"Nearing her time? Are you saying that she is going to die, Tom?" asked Cord, lifting her head all the way up in order to look Tom square in the face.

"No," said Tom, his grin still present and growing. "I've been around enough women to know what _she's_ going through right now."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I screamed, but he and Cord only walked to the other side of the ship. "Come back, you bloody… you bloody… ooh, _fine!_" I stomped up to the helm and made my presence known by approaching Jack directly, and that meant blocking his view of the ocean.

"Aye?" he questioned warily, looking at me with just as disgruntled a face.

"I'm tired of this useless work, Jack. I want duties that fit my abilities better. Tom is being a bloody, biased bastard and won't give me tasks that test me."

"That doesn't sound fair," he replied evenly, and I uttered a sigh of relief at his agreement. I saw brighter prospects at that moment. "I know exactly what you can do, love."

"Really?" I squeaked, delighted and clapping my hands.

"When we reach New Orleans, which will be in… less than two hours, you an' Tom there will work together to recruit more men for the voyage. I can't take or commandeer the _Pearl_ with the scanty amount with me on this rottin' boat." He smiled and it was clear that he was waiting for my approval of his plan. I, however, bit my lip as I assessed his proposal. Working with Tom wouldn't help me at all. He'd only make me do petty things.

"I'll agree, _Daddy_,"—he frowned at that—"if you let me be fully in charge of such an expedition. Tom must be excluded." His frown deepened.

"That's the problem with having only daughters," he muttered. "You whine too much. You square things out with Tom, love, or you'll be stayin' on the ship with Cord when we hit port."

"Jack, that is terribly unfair!" I protested.

"Pirate," he bellowed, grinning at me. "Whaddya expect from me, lass?"

"Nothing," I groused. "I should always expect bloody nothing from you." And I left him with that sore comment and proceeded to the decks below.

By the time we hit New Orleans, it was evening and my grudge against my fellow pirate comrades had not ebbed. The envy was still pulsing with much fervor, and I had spoken to no one since my confrontation with Jack. The men were already preparing the ship for docking and I sat in the bosun's chair looking down at them from aloft with a very displeased visage and thoughts that were sure to condemn me to hell. I must have damned them all a hundred times in my head and said a good deal of horrible things about their mothers (also in my head) but my rage could not be vented out in any positive way.

My eyes drifted many times in Tom's direction for more than just the obvious reason. Yes, I did find him outrageously attractive and thus I would be naturally drawn to gawking at him as if he were a god, but his red hair was more noticeable than the commonplace brown and blond covering the heads of the other men. But the most important factor in my constant observation of him would be the grudge against him. If my eyes could send daggers, Tom would be dead by now, looking as prickly as an overpopulated pincushion. Fortunately, my eyes were but plain looking-glasses in my skull.

I let out a soft growl when Tom's head turned up in my direction. "Are ye gonna come down from yer little swing, bonnie?" he yelled. "I 'eard we're to work together. Shouldn't ye be excited about that?"

"I refuse to cooperate!" I spat back.

"Fine. I guess ye'll be on the ship all be yer onesies. Even Cord's comin'." My jaw dropped and I rapidly lowered myself down to the deck, quickly leaping off the bosun's chair as soon as I reached a safe jumping height.

"If Cord's going, then I'm going too. You'd all forget 'bout her while gawping at women." My reply, although cheap, was exactly what Tom wanted to hear and he bowed mockingly at me again, taking off his hat with that same unnecessary flourish.

"Right this way then, ladies," he chortled. Cord and I stepped foot on the gangplank leading down to the dock. "And another thing, Astrid," he added.

"What?"

"You're to gather fifty more men for this voyage. I'm going to recruit an additional twenty-five for a surplus in case we lose some due to any unfortunate occurrences in the near future."

"Fifty men?" I shouted. "What madness is this!"

"Hey, you wanted a challenge. Now you have it," he smirked. "We'll meet back here by midnight. Sound fair? Good. Bob's your uncle." And he left before I could utter another word. I instantly sought to find Jack but I paused for a moment and considered what I was doing. I was just being babyish by going from authority to authority complaining about my duties. If I was ever going to get their respect, I'd have to do what they asked of me with optimism.

"Cord?" I asked as we paraded down the gangplank and onto New Orleans' ground.

"_Oui?_"

"How's your Spanish?" I heard her suck in a breath at the question and I already anticipated her answer.

"Not very good," she confessed. "I'd like to learn, but I haven't come across many Spaniards."

"Hopefully we'll find some Dons to teach you then, aye?" I said brightly.

"_Oui_, _ma soeur_."

As we made our way into the port city, I reminded myself that I needed to gather fifty able men to join Jack's crew. Of course, there were many problems that I encountered while I was analyzing my task. Firstly, where could I gather men with sailing experience, how would I convince them to join a pirate's crew, and how would I conquer the language barrier if some willing men were Spanish or of any other ethnicity? I couldn't only gather Frenchies either, even if that would be my easiest option what with Cord right by my side.

"I think we'll start at the local taverns, sister," I suggested, quite unsure of myself. I had a bad feeling that no man would even listen to me, which would mean that I'd have to act coquettish in order to have their attention. I honestly did not want Cord to see me in such a light.

"Yes, as that is where sailors usually go," she replied dully as if she could have thought of something better. I _'hmphed_' at her and she just looked at me innocently, as always, and my battle was lost.

We entered the first tavern we spotted, which, not surprisingly, was named the 'Blood Night Inn.' _Very reminiscent of Tortuga, _I groaned inwardly as we walked in. Sure enough, we were rapidly introduced to a lot of gambling, drinking and skylarking.

"_Dégueulasse!_" shrieked Cord, covering her nose and mouth from the rather unpleasant fetor in the rather fuggy building.

Her high-pitched yelp though, was loud enough to reach the ears of the Frogs wasting away and an alarming number of heads paused and turned towards us.

"Ay," said Cord softly, realizing that her comment was most definitely heard. "_Désolée_, _Mesdames et Messieurs_." She curtsied afterwards and any hostile looks were becalmed.

"See, Astrid?" she beamed, delighted with her swift success.

"Yes, yes," I murmured. "Everyone just loves you, Miss Cordelia. Now, see if you can tell them that your father is a very honorable captain looking for able-bodied sailors."

"But that would mean that I am doing _your_ job." I grumbled out my surrender and cautiously neared one of the tables that happened to have a kinder feeling to it.

As I got closer, I heard that they spoke French and so I decided to put into use the many agonizing hours of French lessons with Miss Smith.

"_Pardonnez-moi, Messieurs_," I greeted, deciding to use my "manly" voice in the small hope of being exempt from their laughter. They paused in their betting and turned to me with quizzical brows, and I could have guessed at what they were thinking in their heads when they saw me. "_Tu parle anglais?_" I asked timidly.

"_Oui_," said one with much gusto. "_Pourquoi?_"

"I, um… my father is a very well-off captain and he is… uh… looking for sailors to join his crew. Do any of you have sailing experience?"

"We all do, eh… _Mademoiselle?_" He looked me up and down, his face still confused, and his friends snickered amongst themselves when he questioned my sex.

"Yes, I am a woman," I moaned, on the verge of hissing at them. "How many years have you?" And a wide array of numbers was called out.

"_Cinq!_"

"_Neuf!_"

"_Trois!_"

"Are all of you interested in joining my father's crew?" I posed, becoming more comfortable in their company.

"Depends," said the man who I had first spoken to. "What is his mission?"

"Mission? Oh, well… to… uh…" I hesitated as I wasn't sure whether or not to tell them that we were pirates. I could tell them that we wouldn't raid any French ships on the way, but that wouldn't be honest. I was still strongly adhered to my British patriotism. "Um… to capture a ship and to look for a… treasure…" I gulped. Their answer was silence.

The man stood up and came forward, peering at me harshly. "Pirate?" he whispered. I reluctantly nodded. _Oh God, Astrid, what if you just sentenced everyone to the noose?_

The man looked back at his comrades and they exchanged a few words before he turned back to me.

"We will come," he stated gladly. "Eh, _comment vous appelez-vous?_"

"Astrid, _Monsieur_…?"

"Édourd Baudin, _Mademoiselle_." He took my hand and kissed it and then asked for directions to Jack's ship, which I willingly gave him. Afterwards, his band of brothers followed his example and treated me with their name (some even their rank) and kissed the back of my hand.

_Well, I guess the Frenchies aren't so bad,_ I blushed.

"Where to?" questioned Cord as the last of the eight men I had recruited exited the tavern.

"The next tavern of course. _Allons-y!_" And off we went.

In the time span of three hours, I managed to recruit twenty more men, leaving me with twenty-two more to get in the next five hours. It didn't seem too much of a difficulty and I had even hired a diverse group of French, American and African American sailors. I thought I was doing a very, _very_ good job.

_A lot better than that bum-bum, Tom_, I thought to myself.

Cord and I had stayed strictly to our duty and we hadn't strayed one point off course until we encountered a duo of rather wealthy-looking (and not to mention, handsome) Frenchmen. The two seemed to have come from nowhere, and I also wondered what men of their stature were doing in such meager areas of the city. _Evidently looking for pretty girls, _I imagined.

"_Bonsoir, Mesdames,_" said one with a charming grin. I was immediately bewitched by his soft pervenche eyes and I found myself paying my greetings as well. Cord, however, seemed more wary to give hers.

He was tall and had neatly combed blond hair that had a silvery tone to it in the moonlight. He was rather pale as opposed to the many tanned faces I had seen in the city, but I judged that it was from powder. He had a strong jaw and a fine, straight nose and of course, my heart was tamed at once.

His friend was opposite in hue, with brown hair and eyes that were probably greener than the greenest of emeralds. His demeanor though, was more aloof and uneasy, although he did seem to partake in some of the interest that his friend had for Cord and me. How strange that these two men would want to enchant a child and a stupid girl dressed as a boy?

"Now," said the blond one. "What is a beautiful young woman and a lovely Creole child doing out here in these parts of the town?" I was amazed at his well-spoken English.

"I was about to ask you the same," I returned, giggling for some odd reason. Cord elbowed me in the side as she looked at both the men with a serious glare, and she had been merry all through the night until she had seen them.

"My friend and I are looking for a runaway slave of ours. Though, I take it that you two haven't seen him. You don't seem like the kind of people to be mingling with those things," he answered.

Now, if I was in any good sense of mind, I would have spat at him for saying such horrible words. I didn't forget Bennett's pure hatred for the slave trade, and yet for some reason I didn't seem to mind the comment when this man spoke.

"Indeed not," I answered. "My sister and I are looking for sailors to join our father's crew."

"Oh," he said, still smiling. "Have you checked at Red Night Tavern?"

"No, Monsieur, but we have checked at the Blood Night Inn."

"Ah, that's down South, isn't it?" he said, coming closer to me. Cord pulled me back and he noticed.

"_Ma chérie, ne vous en faites pas_," he said gently, bending down and lifting Cord's chin. As soon as he touched her, she gasped and dug her face into my side, squeezing me so tightly that I scarcely could breathe.

"_J'ai peur, _Astrid. We must leave. We must get back to Jack now," she quavered, her breath short.

"Cord, I don't know what you're afraid of. What's wrong?" I tried to pull her away from me so that I could talk to her, but she wouldn't budge. She was determined to stick to me like glue until we left the two gentlemen and returned to our search for sailors. I looked up at the both of them and shrugged. "She normally isn't like this."

"Do not apologize, _ma chérie_. She is just tired. It is quite late into the night. But I asked where you have searched because there was a man doing some recruiting of his own in the Red Night Tavern."

"A man?" I echoed. "What man? What color hair did he have?"

"Red, I believe. He was talking with some Spaniards when we left there." Cord released her grip on me and urgently pulled at my arm.

"That is Tom, Astrid! We must go to him now!" she cried excitedly.

"Cord!" I shouted, resisting her pull. "I don't want to talk to that bastard. It's best if we don't run into each other. Otherwise, he'd just make fun of me some more."

"That is better than staying with those two!" she countered, glancing fearfully in their direction.

"What in God's name is so scary about them, Cordelia? You're acting foolish!" Fed up with my protests (as if _I_ wasn't fed up with _hers_), she pulled me aside, away from the two Frenchmen and whispered:

"I have heard stories about night murders in New Orleans, Astrid. I heard them when you were talking to the sailors in the taverns. Many people have suddenly disappeared at night only to be found dead, their blood drained from their bodies. Their necks were punctured." I sputtered out a laugh at her story and shook my head, hardly accepting a word she said.

"Good God, Cord! Vampires? You think those two men are vampires? I have never heard anything so ridiculous in my entire life!" I laughed all the harder.

"Stop it!" she napped, slapping my shoulder. "It's true! I saw his teeth when he smiled at you! And when he touched me, his skin was deathly cold—like a dead man's skin!"

"If he was a part of the 'living dead,' Cord, he'd smell rotten, and I fancy that he smells quite nice. Also, I saw no sharp teeth. You're imagining things. He's probably right. You _are_ tired and superstitious sailor stories are getting the better of you." I looked at her with full skepticism and her eyes only welled with water.

"If you will not listen to me then I will tell Tom!" she wailed, running away.

"Cord! Cordelia! Come back! It's not safe!"

With a sigh and a roll of my eyes, I ran after her as she blindly sprinted into a dark alleyway—_stupid girl_—her sobbing echoing along with the tap of her shoes. She ran fast, like a startled, panicking bird and I lost track of her in the dark.

"Cord!" I screamed. "You'll get lost! You come back _now!_" But I could no longer hear where she was, and _I_ was now the one lost. The moon was full and its light still dropped in some spots in the alley, but it was still difficult to see. Therefore, I did the only thing I could do at that time. I ran back the way I came, hoping to reach the open street before fright got a hold of me. But it seemed as though I was already quite frightened, for I had run into someone and he grabbed my wrists in a frigid, iron grasp as I let out a terrified shriek.

"Shh," he said, easing his grip on me. "_Ne vous en faites pas, ma chérie._"

"I don't understand what you're saying," I trembled, and in the silver moonlight I saw his soft pervenche eyes constrict as they seemed to awaken with a sinister brightness in the night.

"Do not worry," he reiterated, his breath fiercely cold. "Relax. All will be well."

"No," I cried. "Cord is out there alone and I need to go find her."

"Shh," he cooed again, his sharp thumb running across my cheek. "You have a cut," he sang, almost playfully, and the sting of a fresh scratch pained me. "You'll bleed no more."

He pulled me close and kissed my bloody cheek, gently at first and then feverishly while my consciousness swayed, swayed, and then dipped into a pool of… nothing.

_Donc la nuit je l'ai rencontré encore,  
je me suis pris au piège dans son obscurité.  
La vérité était là-bas et la nuit était nu,  
et il m'a donné le sang de la lune...*_

* * *

_*So the night I met him again,  
I trapped myself in his gloom.  
The truth was there and night was bare,  
And he gave me the blood of the moon…_


	32. Raise the Jolly Roger

_Chapter 32: Raise the Jolly Roger_

"_Awake, lady wake, I am waiting for thee,  
Oh, this night or never my bride thou shalt be,  
So wake, lady wake, I am waiting for thee,  
Oh, this night or never my bride thou shalt be…"_

**T**he slumber I had fallen victim to rapidly lost its salubrious sweetness at the rather unwelcome introduction of some noticeably wretched singing. The person to ascribe the inescapable screeching to was unmistakably my comely and cocky Irishman, and although I appreciated his close presence, I absolutely could not bear his tone-deafness.

With a groan, I unbarred by locked eyelids and absorbed the blurry fragments of my current environment. Judging by my supine position and the stableness of the ground, I assumed that I was resting on land. However, as I sluggishly propped myself up into a sitting position, I realized that I was sitting in a bed that was most certainly not mine, and the room I was placed in was festooned with exotic, tropical plants and an immeasurable collection of odd and bizarre trinkets, figurines and other bibelots. Why, intermixed with the fat, stubby candles that lit the room were skulls, shells from the sea and… a jar of eyeballs?

The more I dared to explore the area, the more I found that probably the only normal element of the room was the bed I sat on. What made it even worse was that I was alone in the room; although, I could have sworn that I heard Tom's painful singing in close proximity.

"Jack?" I called out timorously, still highly cautious after observing my morbid surroundings.

My answer was empty air. Though, I was able to detect the minute movements of feet outside the room. _Perhaps he's coming,_ I thought, stretching my arms as I readied myself for a complete departure from eternal sleep.

Upon standing, I felt slightly addled, almost as if I was waking from a night of undisturbed and heavy drinking. I knew, however, that that could not have been the case. I would have vomited if I had gotten myself as drunk as Davy's sow. The unsteadiness I was currently feeling felt more like a lack of food or nourishment, and now that I thought about it, I was ravenous for some wholesome, greasy grub and a whole barrel of grog (well, perhaps not a barrel, but certainly more than three tankards of it).

I looked down at my hands as I continuously brought in and released my fingers, noting my strangely pale complexion. At that moment, the door to the room finally opened, and I looked up, meeting Jack's startled face. He even let out a tiny "Ah!" while retracting his arms.

"What?" I asked. "What the bloody hell happened? I feel like I was hit with a boulder and left for dead."

"You look horrible, lass," he remarked, ignoring my question, as usual.

"I figured that, Daddy," I frowned. "Now what happened? All I remember is some French aristocrat grabbing me."

He grimaced a bit and approached me with his hands still recoiled, as if he expected me to lunge forward and attack him. His eyes were peculiarly focused on my jaw and neck, and due to his odd behavior, I returned the befuddled stare.

"What are you—"

"Say 'ah'," he proctored, and with a roll of my eyes, I obeyed. He examined my teeth with alarming interest, his eyes darting back and forth, from tooth to tooth.

After his dental observations, he relaxed and regained his complacent disposition, placing his hands on his hips and grinning his toothy, pirate-y grin.

"Well, that's a relief," he said, still unaware that he had not answered even one of my bloody questions; but, stupid as I was, I kept spitting out inquisitions.

"Why'd you look at my teeth?" I questioned.

"You mean you don't remember, love?"

"No, I don't," I growled. "If I did, I wouldn't have asked." _Silly old man._

"Ah. Good point there," he replied nonchalantly before turning around and walking out of the room, naturally expecting me to follow; so I did.

The neighboring room contained a good, surprising amount of people, and I was almost shocked to find them all congregated in this one curious place.

"Astrid! You're alive!" shouted a familiar voice. A little bouncing fluff of brown hair came rushing toward me and embraced me tightly while I resumed being as confused as I was from the beginning.

"Um… Cord," I began, gradually prying her off me. "Why wouldn't I be alive?"

"Vampires," Jack coughed boisterously from behind, and I turned and glared at him before giving my sister my full attention.

"Papa is right, Astrid," said Cord. "You were bitten by one. Don't ye remember?" I was filled with that same incredulousness that I had expressed to Cord when I was last with her.

"Are you tellin' me that one o' them Frenchmen we was with drank me blood?"

"Aye," she answered earnestly, as if her point could never be argued.

"That's bloody impossible! There's no such thing as… as… as… _vampires!_"

"Why don't you look at yer pretty neck then, eh, bonnie?" Tom joined in, a mirror in his hand. Confident that _I_ was the correct and sane one in the group, I snatched it from him and uttered some insult towards his poor singing before glancing at myself in the mirror.

At first, I didn't really notice anything different, but as I looked my closely, I noticed that there was a dried cut running along my left cheek—_that's going to leave a scar—_and on my neck were two small, but clearly visible puncture wounds.

My jaw dropped in terrified disbelief.

_Good Lord! They weren't lying!_

I unleashed a deafening scream and shoved the mirror away, instinctively running to Jack and clinging to him out of fear of the evident truth clearly displayed on my punctured neck. He simply kept his smug, all-knowing look while gently patting my shoulder in an unexpectedly fatherly manner.

"Hmm…" entered a new voice. I looked around and saw a young, brown-skinned woman walk forth in a heavy and tattered dress. Her face was marked distinctively with tattoos, and her large brown eyes were bloodshot with a wicked gleam. "Miss Sparrow find out 'bout her bite, eh?" she said teasingly, and my nose twitched at the comment.

"Who is she, Jack?" I whispered to him as I watched the rather scary-looking woman come forward with something in her hands.

"Astrid," said Jack, letting me go and nudging me towards her. "This is Tia Dalma, a good… friend… of mine; and ye'll be thankin' her for healin' ye."

At the mentioning of "thanks" the acclaimed Tia Dalma set her dark eyes directly on Jack and said, calmly, "Ye haven't paid me back for dis yet." Knowing very well that she was right, but refusing to show his guilt, he plainly said:

"You mean you didn't like the monkey?"

"Ya give me ten monkeys already, Jack," she replied, still unappeased.

"Here then, Miss Dalma," interrupted Cord with a smile. She pulled a handkerchief out of her dress pocket and handed it to her. "It's the vampire's hanky and…" She dug into her other pocket for something else and surfaced a ring of some sort, a very _big_ gold ring. "… this."

Tia was slightly unhappy with the handkerchief bit, but when she found a strand of silvery-blond hair in it, she changed her mind and showed a genuinely pleased smile.

"Your daughters are getting bettah than you, Jack Sparrow," she said wryly, wrapping her tanned fingers around the objects and hiding them away in the pockets of her dress.

"Well, o' course they are," countered Jack gladly. "That's why they're _my_ daughters." Switching audiences, his veered to his crew and continued: "Tom, Gibbs, Ana Maria, let's get back to sea."

"Wait," I said, turning to the Dalma. "What exactly are you going to do with that stu—" Cord had yanked my arm and thus interrupted me before I could finish. By Tia's sinister smile, I could tell that she was up to something, but my assumptions were proved wrong.

"Take dis, Miss Sparrow," she said, putting a beaded necklace of some sort in my hand. "You don't need ta fear. I never hurt Jack's daughters."

Before I could even say thank-you, Cord had pulled me out of Tia's abode and helped me into a boat, in which I noticed that the infamous Dalma had given me, out of all things, a rosary.

On the boat ride down the river and back to the ship, Cord permitted herself to explain the rest of the events of that mysterious night. Firstly, she informed me that I had been out of consciousness for a good three days. _Damn_. Secondly, she then told me that she had run away from me to find Tom, which she successfully did. Though, upon her return to the alleyway she had abandoned me at, she found me lying limply on the ground with a pool of my blood leaking underneath my neck and being surrounded by a growing circle of people.

"Tom used yer 'social magnetism,' that's what he called it, to get more men under your name, and he got you your full fifty. He then picked ye up and we went back to the ship where Jack thought ye was dead."

_How kind, Daddy…_

"What did the old man do?" I inquired dully, expecting what followed to be disgraceful.

"He took ye in his own arms and got all serious. He told everyone to make sail straight away, forgetting 'bout anythin' else and so off we went to Dalma's. We didn't get any sleep that night. We sailed straight through the night for ye, _ma soeur_. Daddy didn't want it any other way."

I couldn't help but smile at her story. I had been rather disrespectful to Jack since I became reunited with him, most likely because I still hadn't forgiven him for letting me go. He was a good man through and through, however, and I should have never doubted his abilities. For God's sake, my father was Captain Jack Sparrow! There was no disgrace in that, and I was certain that there never would be.

Jack was fairly pleased with Tom and mine's recruiting selections, and I had to admit that I was adequately content as well. The men we hired were knowledgeable, fun-loving, jolly ex-sailors and were instantly devoted to their captain and fellow shipmates. They were a mixed bunch, ranging from strong and fit Brother Jonathans, to the dutiful runaway slaves. I liked my crew already.

I did have a problem with the Dons and Frogs on the ship, despite their clear amiability for me and all other British citizens (or ex-citizens) on the ship. The Frenchies had it in their nature to be slightly supercilious, and the Dons had it in their blood to always be slightly fiery-tempered. Of course, I didn't get annoyed with them for just those two stupid reasons. The one thing that bothered me the most about them was the fact that I could scarcely understand a word they said. The language barrier was driving me mad.

My French, although tolerable, was limited, and my Spanish was practically nonexistent. _Oh, what I wouldn't give to have Roland with me right now_, I wished, but alas, he was off on the _Black Pearl_ probably getting cozy with Mad Annie. _Bastard._

We were fortunate enough to have one Spanish sailor who was fluent in English and could translate for us, but such a task was so tedious. I knew Jack was aware of the problem, but he let it go on as if it wasn't a big deal, and when I questioned him about his lack of involvement in trying to make sense out of his crew, he told me that the language of a pirate was universal and that the Dons and Frenchies would catch on soon enough.

"Mad Anne would have gotten the treasure and would be queen of seas by the time that happens, Jack," I argued. "You need to teach them English."

"Hmm, teach 'em English? Well, why can't we jus' learn Spanish and French? It's the same thing."

"No, it's not," I replied. "It's harder." He gave me a look that showed that he was far from being convinced of my point and I gave in with a sigh. "Fine," I said. "I'll try and learn some bloody Spanish and French."

He smiled, and I took it that he was proud of me for being more agreeable. I decided to leave him be with his wheel and waved him a farewell when he said, "Be sure to tell me what ye learn. I can't bloody understand a thing these Spaniards are saying."

_Well, _I thought, grinning despite my irritation at his laziness_. Two can play it that way._

"Cord!" I hailed. "Would you like to do a favor for me?"

My little sister, despite her innocent looks, was far smarter than I thought and she knew what I was up to from the moment I asked for her assistance.

"I ain't going to learn a language for you," she fired back. "We are both going to learn Spanish, and do not get angry with me when we do just because I get better than you." _There we go again with the French haughtiness_.

"Fine, fine," I uttered miserably._ Curses._

Our Spanish tutor was to be one Erwan Guerra, a man of about thirty with black hair, green eyes and a thin mustache that Cord and I seemed to find positively hilarious. He was the only Don on the ship who knew English, and, surprisingly, he knew French as well.

"My mother," he explained, "was French, and my father was obviously a Spaniard." He paused with an added glower. "Stop giggling, you chattering _cucarachas_." And, ironically, he was stroking his funny mustache while Cord and I bubbled out more laughter behind our hands. He muttered a complaint in Spanish before trying to get our attention again, which he sadly managed to do after asking for the bosun's cat o' nine tails. "Ah, quiet now, eh, _las gatitas?_" he sneered.

_Hey, we're not a batch of bloody kittens,_ I grumped, but we fell silent nonetheless.

"Erwan!" called the lookout from the crow's nest. Cord and I leaned our heads back as we looked up the mast and at the young Don who was pointing at something in the distance.

"_Que, _Hernán?" answered Erwan, unnerved by the interruption. His face, however, lost all annoyance when he received the lookout's reply, and he swiftly abandoned Cord and me to go to Jack, who, as usual, was standing by the wheel.

"We've spotted a ship," he told him.

"Where away?" I interjected, having followed him and getting quite excited. They only looked at me with furrowed eyebrows, and so I repeated myself, believing that they had not heard me clearly the first time. The repetition, unfortunately, did not give the effect I wanted it to.

"Love," said Jack after nearly five minutes of silence. He led me towards the starboard railing of the ship on the quarterdeck and spoke with a low tone. "These sailors don't know that jargon, Astrid. Hell, neither do I. Yer not in the navy anymore, love. Remember: _pirate_." I grinned sheepishly at the information. I had entirely forgotten that I was indeed on a pirate ship and the rules and language of a British man-of-war did not apply. Although, after being conditioned to work like a proper British seaman, I knew it would take a hefty amount of un-conditioning to get me fully adjusted to the free life.

With a complete understanding of Jack's point, I turned back to Erwan and asked, "Where's the ship?"

"Hernán said a little off to the right of this rail."

"How far?"

"Maybe one and a half kilometers," he estimated with a shrug. Jack and I exchanged glances as we came to comprehend the small distance between us and that ship.

"The jack?" questioned Captain Sparrow, taking out his spyglass and handing it to me. While Erwan was yelling in Spanish to our lookout, Jack turned to me and whispered, "I want ye to go up to the crow's nest. Find out her size and find out what type of jack she has, aye?"

"Aye." I unknowingly gave him a salute and he only quirked his eyebrows at me. _Dammit. You're not a ship's boy anymore, Astrid. Think like a pirate. _Be_ a God damn pirate!_

With that reminder in tow, I scampered to the ratlines and scaled the ropes until I reached the crow's nest, where I was greeted rather rudely by the Spanish lookout. He didn't seem too happy to have me up there with him, supposedly doing a part of his job. He knew who I was, however. He knew I was the captain's daughter and he gave me my room, even if he did consent to my presence with a harsh glare in his light-brown eyes.

_Well, how'd you like it if I pushed you out and over the crow's nest, eh, Donny? How'd you like it when you fall and hit the deck and your brains scatter everywhere? That's right. Treatin' me with such cheek. Ye know, I've really had enough of you men. I really have. I—_

By the dulled look on his face, I judged that he had lost interest in his duty (and my presence), and he turned around and looked in the other direction while I stuck the end of the spyglass to my left eye and scanned the tame blue main for our targeted vessel.

Erwan was not that far off when he postulated the approaching ship's distance from us. They were getting close, quickly, and by the looks of it, they meant business. I noted her jack, which, not surprisingly, was French, and I had grinned at the sight of it without even knowing what I was doing.

_So… how many guns does little Froggy have?_ I veered my eyes to what I could see of the hull and deck of the ship, and my grin, also without my awareness, vanished. _Little Froggy ain't so little after all._

I snapped the spyglass shut and was about to lean over and deliver my report via screaming when I realized that the Spanish lookout was no longer up in the crow's nest with me. Why, he was already on deck and talking (through Erwan) with Jack!

"Hey!" I screeched, insulted that the Spaniard was trying to outdo me. I descended from the crow's nest and landed on deck with a huff and marched over to my father who was now joined by not only the two previously mentioned Dons, but now Tom, an American and Monsieur Baudin.

"She's French. Maybe seventy guns," I stated, interrupting their trilingual discussion.

"Hernán told us already, _bonita_," chuckled Erwan, and my nose flared at the jests. I turned to Jack, and then to the oh-so-glorified Hernán and then back to Jack and stuck the spyglass back in his hand.

"Yer not going to outrun her nor are ye gonna be able to claim her as a prize with yer puny guns or swords." For some reason, all the men looked down at the pistols and blades at their belts. Well, all of them except the Frenchman who smirked at the comment.

"Are you sayin' somethin', bonnie?" Tom posed with a wry smile as he peered at me. Naïve as I was, I had no idea what he was suggesting.

"I'm sayin' that whatever ye have below yer belts isn't up to par with those of the French! What's so difficult to understand?"

"I think I like this girl," Baudin remarked as he stroked his chin, and they all laughed at that.

"I don't think I'll partake in these puns anymore, gents." Jack coughed and looked at me. "Astrid, love, get to the point. Yer makin' yer shipmates happy," he said, seemingly awkward himself.

"What? A French warship is right on your tail an' yer laughin' at me? What the hell is wrong with you all?" I shrieked, ready to smack them for their inside chortles.

"I think I'll just surrender, Astrid," said Tom as he raised hands in the air in another one of his feigned defeats. "I can't beat those bloody French at your game. Unless…" He took a stride towards me. "Unless I actually play with you."

I saw Jack make a dry wretch as he heard the words and by the glimmer in Tom's eyes, I finally, _finally_, got what they were all talking about; and I made my discovery known with a wave of verbal rage.

"Ooh, you little bastards! You always mess up everything I bloody say! I didn't bloody mean it like _that!_ Good God! You take things enormously out of proportion!" I punched Tom in the arm while he just laughed like no tomorrow. And to think that I said such things in front of my father too. I couldn't stop the red from flooding to my cheeks.

But my shipmates' naughty minds gave me a very prime idea, and I cut off their laughter with a girlish giggle and a flutter of my eyelashes that would make any Tortuga wench proud.

"Daddy," I said. "How much rum did you load onto your ship?" He refused to give me a number and simply replied:

"Why?"

"I'm going to need a lot of it. The French on that ship there are going to have a very special guest tonight."

"Dammit," snapped Tom. He turned to Baudin and pointed at the smugly smiling Frog. "You bloody French always get the fun."

_Fun, indeed, you bastard, _I sneered inwardly. _Fun, indeed._

I was directed to the lieutenant's cabin with such civility that I actually admired the French dress Cord forced me to buy months ago. It could work miracles when put on. To add to my luck, Cord, my convenient French translator, was standing right beside me, wiping her face with a hanky given to her by the French first lieutenant whose room we stood in. However, she was not drying tears of sadness. She was mopping up the residue of a good, fake cry and I had done the same but moments before.

My father and non-French comrades had followed in suit of Tom's feigned surrenders as we allowed the French warship to approach us. When they got within a pistol shot, Cord and I unleashed our wondrously ill-rehearsed plan and screamed at the top of our lungs as we pretended to struggle with some artificial bonds. I had told Jack to make it seem as if he was holding Cord and me as French prisoners. Therefore, he tied us up to the foremast and Cord and I howled and wailed like banshees until our French "saviors" came alongside and ordered the "fiendish pirates" to surrender, lest they want their ship pulverized. Jack pretended to be stubborn, but he eventually gave in, and the French captain, who to my disappointment was rather old and crusty, came onboard and was given Captain's Sparrow's sword in the proper rules of defeat.

Cord and mine's pirate mates had their hands bound and were brought to the French warship to be locked in the brig while the Frogs gladly looted our ship of its goods; and, needless to say, they found a particular interest in our vast collection of rum. _Bless you, Daddy!_

In the midst of the fraudulent defeat, Cord and I were untied from the foremast quite delicately by some Froggy sailors and were led directly to their ancient captain. I grimaced as I tried to keep in mind the role I had to play in our little scheme every time I had to look at him, and that was, to my misfortune, very often.

It was a good thing though, that the better-looking first lieutenant volunteered to give his lodgings to Cord and me instead of having us split up in the following fashion: me with the captain and Cord with the bosun. I would have fainted if I was inclined to remain in the captain's constant company and I'd die before I saw my little sister surrendered to some fat, grubby man.

"What are we to do now, _ma soeur_?" whispered Cord as she handed me the lieutenant's handkerchief.

"Our mission is to have ourselves invited to dine with the officers tonight, in which I will urge them to allow their crew to celebrate their victory with an unlimited supply of rum. They'll get dead drunk, and then you will go free our friends from the brig, and then we'll toss these Frenchies on some God forsaken island and take their ship. Sound good?"

"Aye, but how d'ye expect to—" She bit her lip as we heard the door to the cabin creak open, and she and I spun around, me quickly stuffing the lieutenant's hanky into the sleeve of my dress.

To our relief, it was but a midshipman who politely informed us that we were to dine with the captain and his officers that night. _Splendid_. At least the first part of the plan was accomplished. He said some more French phrases which I could hardly understand. Perhaps the only thing I understood was something about a tour of the ship.

When the mid left Cord and me, I asked her what he told us and he said that he'd be happy to show us around the ship after dinner with the captain and that he would come by to the cabin again at precisely eight bells or, in my nautical understanding, at eight o'clock in the evening or at the start of the First Watch.

"Though, I must tell you, _ma soeur_," she added to her translation. "He seemed to be speaking with a lusty undertone."

_I should have known…_

"T'won't matter, sister," I told her. "Astrid has everything under control." Before she could even reply, the door to the cabin swung open again and this time the dashing First Lieutenant was waiting for us at the entrance. He bowed to the both of us and kissed both our hands before he escorted us from his cabin to his captain's quarters.

On the way there, I prayed rather desperately for the captain to suddenly double over and pass into the next life so that the acting captain would be the more aesthetically pleasing first mate. Though, as I was never much of the religious person, God never granted me anything and the captain seemed in rather good health as we entered his quarters. As anticipated, I was prompted to sit next to the captain with Cord by my side, and as was the usual custom, the captain's second in command sat on his other side. That meant that I'd be sitting opposite a fairer man and would therefore feel less awful for playing my coquettish tricks on them.

_Bring on the rum, me hearties. Let's see how well ye all can take the liquor._

It was decided that I speak not a word in their company as my French accent was horrible and they'd be suspicious of my true heritage. Cord was instructed to do the same since it would also be strange if a ten year old girl was doing all the talking; and so we simply replied to anything said to us with a mixture of shrugs, _hmm's_, nods, and _tsk_'s. It didn't go without my attention however, that one of the men at the table, the sailing master, if I judged correctly, was eyeing Cord and me with more than plain suspicion. He looked downright ready to kill us both.

Slyly, I nudged Cord with my elbow and flicked my stare from my food to the sailing master, and she got it and decided that it was time we start talking.

"_Comment allez-vous, Capitaine?_" she asked, setting her fork and knife down as she faced the aged captain and smiled.

The old man grinned and looked at his first lieutenant, leaning slightly and whispering to him something about Cord being such an angel. He then looked back at us and said, with a deep rasp in his throat, that he was overjoyed to have our company and to have so easily captured a pirate vessel. I pretended to giggle at the comment and veered towards Cord and whispered in her ear, casting a side glance at the captain and lieutenant before Cord issued her own chortles.

"Perhaps you should celebrate," she said in French. "That is what my sister suggests you do."

"_Bien sûr_," replied the lieutenant eagerly, a glimmer in his eye. He turned to the captain and they exchanged a few words before the old man ordered that his entire crew be given a generous ration of rum taken from their spoils.

All of the men cheered, made a toast, and thus the merry drinking commenced most favorably according to our plan.

_A job well done, sister._

The midshipman's "lusty undertone" eventually got the better of him when I incorporated his greed into my plot to gain the French warship. It was no easy thing to do either. As promised, the mid came by to show Cord and me around the vessel, and he revealed his true intentions quite early on.

As soon as we got to the berth-deck, he gradually began to drive Cord away, making stupid suggestions to get her out of our company by saying things such as, "Why don't you stay with the sailors for while?" or "The men are singing a few songs. Why don't you join them, little girl?" She'd only snort in reply at the transparent, foolish boy, but she pretended to finally give in to his proposals and decided to join the company of a few French sailors; that is, the group of French sailors that included Monsieur Baudin and his friends.

The French pirates of our crew were deemed as captives of those most "dreadful" pirates as well and were therefore written into the log book of the French warship. Thus, they were spared of any grueling fate. I trusted them enough that they wouldn't go back on Jack, and it seemed as if they'd keep to their word for Baudin sent a wink to me as Cord ran to him, leaving me and the dense midshipman alone.

Cord's absence drove the mid to execute his plans all the quicker, and he did not hesitate to bring me down to the hold, which, might I add, was particularly dark, perfect for… well, _that_, and his breath began to get noticeably shallow.

_God, Cordelia, I do hope that you remembered what you have to do_, I prayed as the mid laid his hands on my shoulders and bent his head close to my neck.

I tried to remain calm as he hooked his fingers in the back of dress to unbutton it, but my nerves were truly being tested as I waited and waited for Cord to do her part of the plan.

_Dammit, Cord. Hurry up! The lad's already on my—_

I gave a yelp and spun around, instinctively slapping the mid in the face after he pinched me most grotesquely, and he glowered at me as his hand touched the sore spot on his face. Needless to say, he wasn't so romantic afterwards.

Before I could make a run for it and make a scene, he seized my arm and pulled me towards him, determined to make a man of himself (whatever man _that_ is). He set his hands on my shoulders once again, but this time, he pushed me down and forced me to kneel, and then he pushed be backwards so that I'd fall on my back. Flashes of that horrible night with Griffith lit up in my mind and I couldn't help but start to get worried._God, no, not again. Please. Please. Save me._

And lo and behold, the sound of a set of footsteps trampled down the stairs leading down into the hold, and there was Cord holding up a lantern as the first lieutenant of the ship came down, immediately spotting the lecherous lesser officer with a monstrous scowl.

The boy hardly had any time to spit out his excuse. He was hauled up off his feet and given a straight blow to the face, and, according to Cord, he was also given a rather derogatory name.

With the boy justly chastened, my bold French savior gently lifted me up off the ground and promptly carried me all the way up to his cabin, where he set me down in his hammock and left me and Cord in his room to rest before leaving to attend to some other, more pressing business. And, in the privacy of his cabin, I finally issued my great relief.

"Thank you, sister," I sighed, rubbing my face with my hands as I steadied my quaking self.

"See? I always pick the opportune moment," she comforted, placing the lantern on the floor and coming over to sit on the edge of the hammock.

"Did you learn that from Jack?" I posed, looking up at the ceiling and musing over why Cord had such luck and I didn't.

"I guess so," she replied, shrugging. "Now what are we going to do?"

"Nothing," I said. "I'll wait in here until the lieutenant comes back, and you go check to see if the French sailors are getting happy with rum."

"They are," she answered. "Baudin took care of that. Ye should have seen 'em, _ma soeur_. They are drunken little _cucarachas_."

_Ah. Good, good. Very good._

There was a knock on the cabin, and in French, I gave the approval of entrance. The first lieutenant stepped in and gave a shallow bow to both of us before her told Cord that Monsieur Baudin had a question for her. She acknowledged the bit of news and went out the door after thanking the Frenchman, leaving me alone, lying down in a hammock, with the endearing young man.

He glanced at me briefly before casually taking off his coat and unbuckling his sword from his belt. I watched him for no reason in particular. He was the only thing that moved in the room, and therefore, my eyes were trained to look at him. Well, that along with the fact that he was lean and handsome coupled with the fact that he had saved me from that awful midshipman.

"_Comment vous appelez-vous?_" I asked him, and he turned around, a bit startled that I had spoken to him.

Recovering from his stupor, he plainly said that he was fine, and asked me the same question in return.

"_Pas mal, _Monsieur," I answered. He then proceeded to ask me what my name was, and I told him my name was Gabrielle. He honored me with his name and rank, and thus, I came to know the identity of this brave Frog: First Lieutenant Albert.

The rest of our conversation continued with the common form of ask-a-question-get-an-answer, and I was getting worried that he wouldn't be distracted enough to ignore everything that happened outside his cabin door. So I decided to make the inquisition more personal.

"Are you married, Monsieur Albert?" I asked him in his native tongue.

It was either that he knew that I wanted to distract him, or he had planned on keeping me to himself for the night because he merely chuckled lightly at my question and responded with, "Are you?" And I was the one who ended up blushing from the personal inquiry.

"_Non_, Monsieur," I replied indignantly. He came forward and leaned down over me.

"Good," he said in French. "Neither am I." And he lowered his head at an angle to prove it when we were disrupted by a most boisterous banging on the cabin door.

At the interruption, he pressed his lips together as he frowned at his cabin entrance and made way towards the door. He opened it with a yank and there on the other side was the captain himself.

I sat up in the hammock and leaned over so I could hear what they were saying better. Though, I regretted doing so, for the first bit of information I caught was that the captain was requesting my company and that dashing Lieutenant Albert and any other man for that matter, could not lay a finger on me until they reached Marseille.

_Uh oh…_

Lieutenant Albert protested as politely as he could, but the ancient captain would hear none of it. He stepped directly into the room and in a far more comforting voice, ordered me to stand and go to his cabin. And so once again, I was forced to place my fate in the hands of my sister, who I hoped was getting Baudin and his men ready for _their_ parts in the plan.

Before I followed after the captain, the lieutenant took my arm and whispered that'd he'd come back to get me before the night was over. _All right, Frenchie. You go ahead and do that. _All I could do was nod at him before leaving with the old fossil, grimacing inwardly as I made the slow trek to my doom.

I was greatly alarmed when I was permitted into his quarters, for, if I counted correctly, there wasn't just the captain in the cabin. Two other men were in there as well, and, might I add, they were in different states of undress. One was in nothing but a shirt and his pantaloons, and another wore the same attire but with his vest and collar on, the later of which was being loosened as I walked in.

_Great God! What the hell is going on!_

"Undress her," proctored the captain to the two vulgar men. I recoiled with a bitter frown, but they were quick. My arms were grabbed and I was hauled forward, closer to the captain who was removing his captain's jacket with much shaking and aching in his bony hands. And as I looked at him trying to disguise my disgust, I realized that he needed the two men there because he was far too old to be the lovely charmer I knew many other youths to be. I figured that he just wanted it done so that he got his pleasure and I got my shame.

I struggled to no avail, and while I thrashed and muttered curses at them, one bugger kept a hold of my arms and the other gladly ripped open the back of my dress and set at once to loosening my corset.

_You're not makin' anymore progress, ye filthy mome!_

The man who kept my arms under control received a good jab in the face from my elbow, but he just squeezed me all the harder and I decided that I'd have to plead the sympathies of the aged captain who did nothing but watch the whole ordeal with a half-closed eyelid.

"I will do nothing in the company of your men," I said in French. "I can handle this by myself. I can and will undress myself, but not with these two idiots." The two Toads laid their burning eyes on the captain, reminding him that he had originally promised them some "fun" of their own. The captain, however, waved them off, and I judged that he felt young again at my request to be alone with him and him only.

The bumpkin duo released me angrily and stormed out, and it might have been just me, but I could have sworn that as soon as they closed the cabin doors behind them, I heard their curses suddenly muffled most abruptly. But whatever I did hear was of no concern to the captain for he simply uttered another order for me to lie down in his hammock. He then added that I'd have to take off my dress and corset before I laid myself down.

With a deep sigh, and as slowly as I possibly could, I commenced to take off my dress.

_First the shoulders. All right, keep it there. Now the corset. Don't want to show him anything just yet. In fact, best not to show him anything at all._

"Turn around," he said as I sluggishly unlaced my corset. Gulping, I did as I was told, and he came around so that his back was facing the door and he was standing right behind me. He gripped my hands and took the strings of the corset out of my grasp and unsteadily began to undo the undergarment himself. That somewhat worked to my benefit. He was slower than I was.

_God, Cord. Hurry up before this bloke finishes!_

To my great misfortune, the fossil had successfully untied my corset and was gradually pulling it apart, and his breath was getting short because it began to moisten the back of my neck at a speedier pace.

Suddenly, at the most impromptu of moments, the doors to the cabin opened with a 'creak' and both the captain and I spun around. And lo and behold! There stood my fine Irishman with a very disgruntled look on his face.

The captain, outraged, abandoned me at once to curse and spit at the "no-good pirate," and Tom easily stepped aside, knocked the old man in the back of the head with a wooden plank, and down fell the Frog, straight onto the floor of his cabin.

"It's about time you bloody got here!" I shrieked as Tom came towards me. I gave him a punch and to counter my assault, he grabbed my face and squished my cheeks as he looked down at me.

"Well, considering that we have to get nearly four hundred Frogs off this godforsaken boat, I'd say that the least ye can do is cut me some slack, bonnie. And what's that? Is that your bare back, I see?"

"Shut up, Tom," I growled, despite blushing inside. "Pick up the old man."

The cocky Irishman at least obeyed that order and lifted the unconscious captain up off the floor, and we headed out of the cabin to meet up with the others.

Cord greeted us first as she gleefully bounced up and down at our success.

"I did just as you asked, _ma soeur_," she cheered. "Baudin and his men, bein' the only buggers who weren't drunk, went down to the brig, freed everyone and they all came up and started packin' the sottish Frenchman into boats."

"Good. Where's Jack?"

"Making sure his rum didn't all go to waste," Tom answered.

"All right. Let's get the rest of these Frogs off. This ship is ours." I was about to take a step forward when I remembered that Lieutenant Albert was still conscious and sober. _Dammit._ And he was perhaps the only person who was armed on the ship at that time. What made it worse was that he had heard all the commotion and had just emerged from his room, the first thing he saw being me and me expressionless face.

"A clever little _putain_ aren't you?" he sneered, all amiable features vanishing from his voice. A pistol was in his hand as he spoke and he raised it at us.

"Dammit, run!" barked Tom, glaring at Cord and me. My sister and I exchanged quick glances before we took off; but we didn't far before a shot was fired.

By the time Cord and I had reached the upper deck, the French threat was on the ebb. Most of the Frogs were too drunk with rum to understand what was going on, and (for once) the sober pirate was able to get rid of them without swords or blood. Well, all except for one.

Tom had managed to come up with us despite the bullet wound smack in his bleeding arm. The unconscious captain was still hanging limply over his shoulders and the aforementioned bastard, Lieutenant Albert, was lying in a forced slumber on the deck below. How Tom happened administer a strong enough blow to knock the lieutenant out was certainly not holding its own position on my sea of thoughts. I was just glad that he did it, did it quick, and got away without further injury.

Jack spotted his daughters almost instantly and left his natural post by the helm to meet us and he greeted us with a grin and, separately, to me a, "Well, look at you, love. Disheveled-looking with the back of your dress undone and a bleeding Irishman at your arm." He paused, seeing my sour reaction to his mockery. "_And_ with a French warship at your mercy. Well done, lass."

"Well," I started, trying to be modest. "It wasn't easy."

"Ye got that right. Only a fourth of me rum is left," he grumped, shaking his head.

"So where are we putting these sailors?" I asked, for he was obviously busy getting rid of them before I came on deck.

"There's an island but a quick boat ride away. We're pilin' them into the ship's boats and droppin' them off there."

"Where's Baudin and his mates?"

"Gettin' the rest of the Frogs still hiding in the ship."

"Well, here's another for ye, cap'n," moaned Tom as he heaved the old captain off his shoulders and down at Jack's feet. Then, with a grin at all three Sparrows, he said, nonchalantly, "Oh, don't mind me grumpiness. I just have a—" He cursed. "—bullet in my—" He cursed again. "—arm."

"Such bad language!" Cord chided, waving a finger at him, and he tolerated her reprimands with a jolly, "Oh! Ye wanna see it, Cordelia? Well, here." He shoved his bloody arm in her face and she squealed with disgust and hid behind Jack.

Jack, ignoring what had just happened with an incredulous look on his face, turned to me and said, "Astrid, the French took our ensign when they looted our ship. Well, we have it back now, so I want _you_ to take it and raise the Jolly Roger. Savvy?"

I became speechless from the honor, and no matter how hard I tried to scream with delight, I couldn't. They just came out as incomplete gasps of bliss.

Hernán happened to stop by with the Jolly Roger in hand, and I snatched it from him with a hoot and sped off down the deck.

_Pirate at last!_


	33. Raking Fire

_Chapter 33: Raking Fire_

**A**s it was on any other newly christened pirate ship, our crew (as soon as we got all the Frenchies off and waved them a lovely farewell with several blown kisses, endearments and in some cases, generous curses) happily perused through the treasures the Frogs had been stowing away in their hold.

Aside from the grain and other foodstuffs discovered, we also found a great deal of gold locked away in the captain's quarters. And, to add to our luck, all of the booty they stole from us during our sham of a defeat was all accounted for. Well, all of it was accounted for save for three fourths of Jack's rum supply, which my daddy was definitely _not_ happy about. Pirating and pilfering would have to wait at the demands of our sober captain, and _I_ was not entirely happy with _that_.

"What d'ye mean we have to dock again?" I squawked, trailing behind him with pounding steps as he languorously meandered down the polished deck of our new flagship. "I'm ready to find Mad Anne and steal Roland out of her grubby grasp!"

"And what makes you think that Mad Anne hasn't already killed the lad, eh? Or what makes you think that Mad Anne hasn't already found the treasure? Or what—"

"Fine," I interjected with a snarl. "Then why _are_ we docking?"

"Astrid," Jack began, leaning back and putting an arm around me. "I want ye to look at yer mates." I raised an eyebrow at him. "Go on. Look." I looked and returned the same dull and unappeased response.

"I see nothin' but a bunch o' nincompoops what don't know how to bloody understand each other."

"Aye, but they managed to come together to get this ship, didn't they?"

"Yes, but—"

"They'll need more bonding time together," he interrupted, letting me go and walking off back to nowhere-land.

"So you're going to dock to make free time for your men?" I questioned, still following him. I figured that trailing right behind my daddy would become a new habit of mine.

"And to get rum," he added. "Can't sail without me physic." I swatted his arm.

"Some physic that is." I paused as he pursed his lips at me in a frown. "So where're we headed?"

"St. Augustine," he grinned. "And this time, ye won't even have to do anything. You're free to go on land with Cord and parade around town like lunatics. Then ye can come back and I'll have somethin' for you to do by then."

"Why can't I do anything useful now?" I protested, crossing my arms.

"Because you're not useful now," was his decrepit answer.

"You mean I'll be useful later?" I persisted, slightly hopeful.

"It depends on how un-useful you are now."

"So I'm not to be useful now?"

He shrugged. "Aye."

"For how long?"

"Until you're useful."

I moaned and rubbed my face with my hands as he (without a doubt) chuckled at my reaction. I had allowed myself to fall for his clever wordplay again and he must have enjoyed seeing my brain burn itself for being so simple-minded.

"Just tell me when we get there," I mumbled as I walked off in the other direction.

"Don't forget to practice yer Spanish, love!" he called after me.

_Oh, to hell with Spanish!_

Unfortunately for Jack, any further Spanish lessons were postponed at the order of the one and only Ana Maria. Apparently, little Cordelia, in her fervor to get ahead in her language studies, had inadvertently gotten frustrated at Señor Guerra for going "too slowly" (slowly, my arse). Therefore, it was no unnatural spectacle that our mustached instructor lost his temper when challenged by a petite, fearless girl. Cord, being the daughter of the aforementioned Ana Maria, was, undoubtedly, hot-tempered herself (when it came to it), and in response, she unleashed a series of curses in French that I was positive should never be in the vocabulary of a seemingly innocent ten year old tot. Guerra, clearly goaded by the unforeseen verbal attack and definitely _not_ about to surrender to a tiny pirate lass, returned the belligerence with a medley of both French _and_ Spanish insults, which threw little Cordelia into an unstoppable fit; that was, an impenetrable fit of _tears_.

My darling sister did not hesitate to flee to her mum, bawling into her hands as Guerra chased after her like a fretful parrot desperately trying to coax her and to convince her that all the horrible things he had said were but "slips of the tongue." Of course, while such a scene was taking place, I enjoyed every minute of it while snacking on a biscuit and giggling behind my crumb-coated teeth as Ana Maria entered the situation and intended to resolve the issue by slapping Guerra several times across the gob and thus interrupting any attempt he made to try and explain what had happened. I couldn't help but feel sorry for the Spaniard. Cordelia was simply thirsty for learning, and he was just not the proper teaching type. Therefore, he was justly removed from his position as our _maestro_ (which I was sure granted him much relief). The only problem with such a solution was that with no more Spanish tutor (and thus no more lessons), Cord would only be all the more upset.

One would think that she'd be happy with her mummy dismissing such a grumpy trilingual man from her education, but Cordelia, despite her earlier aggression, was in love with the Spanish language, and with no further instruction, her despair only elevated to the point where she spent hours upon _hours_ crying until she could cry no more; and when she had exhausted herself with tear-shedding, she resumed to a consistent sniveling and whimpering, two behaviors that I had very little patience for.

"Jack," I said, addressing the Cordelia problem to him with Ana Maria by my side. "You need to make her stop." He cast a glance at his not-really wife and smirked.

"Well, that's her mum's job," he stated flippantly, and although he was joking, he received one of Ana Maria's renowned warning looks. "It's not like she's gonna jump ship," he added, entirely unconcerned about the issue. "It'll pass."

"Oh, I know it will," I scoffed. "That's exactly why she's been moping about for the past five hours."

"That's not so bad," he replied, still continuing with his previous air of indifference toward the matter. "If her whinin's so bad, just plug up yer ears."

"_I_ am not going to do anything to make _her_ stop. _You_ need to uphold your position as her father and tell her to cheer up."

"Ah. _My_ position as _father_. Well… now that you've reminded me: Astrid, I'm tellin' _you_ to go to your sister and tell _her_ to stop her weepin' before I toss all her little dollies overboard, savvy?" He spread his lips in a broad, open grin, revealing his gold-plated teeth in all their hideous glory and I simply gaped at him in pure, fiery disgust.

"But—"

"Astrid!" And as if on some secret cue, Cordelia came dancing up on the quarterdeck, tagging Hernán along with her as she hailed me excitedly. Our father's smile only widened. "Hernán is going to be our _maestro nuevo_." She appeared so confident in her announcement that she even nodded as she spoke to me. I, however, frowned and was not afraid to display my distinct disapprobation of the arrangement.

"But he doesn't even know English. How are we supposed to follow along?" I challenged with the strongest will to never have to undergo language lessons of any sort in the near future.

"Easy," she said with a wave of one hand as she gently swung arms with Hernán with her other. "Like this." She then stepped forward and took my own hand in her free one so that she held hands with both the stubborn, grumpy British girl and the petulant, avaricious Spanish boy. "Hernán may not understand English, Astrid, but he can understand French full well."

"And?"

"So, to get through our lessons, _you_ will say somethin' in English, and I will translate it in French. Then _he_ will tell me what it is _en Español_, which I will tell back to you. Savvy?"

"No," I answered indignantly while breaking my hand from hers. "That's too bloody complicated. Why do I have to become involved in this? Get someone else. Get Baudin, for Pete's sake, but not me." And she slumped her shoulders and sniffled and sniffled hoping to get me to take back what I said, but I had already made up my mind.

"Please, Astrid? _Please?_" she pleaded, tugging on the sleeve of my shirt… and then on my pant leg, and then gradually pressing on my big toe with her small foot.

When she had stretched her patience to the point where she was nearly stomping on my feet, I consented with a monstrous "Faugh! Fine! I'll do it!" and was thus forced into a trilingual gathering of an unlikely trio consisting of a Lobster, a Frog, and a Don.

_Lord, save me._

I felt ashamed to admit that Spanish lessons ran rather smoothly with our new tutor. Of course, initially being cross about the agreement, I said stupid, asinine phrases to translate, such as "There is a sea star in my nose," or "You smell like a sweaty racehorse." Of course, after Cordelia got the idea that I was not going to provide any helpful phrases, she assured me that she'd speak only in French from that point forward, which wouldn't work on my behalf if I was to get along with everyone else and impress Tom and Jack enough for them to give me greater duties. So it was no big surprise that I decided to comply, and as soon as I did, I discovered that it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

Though, I also admitted (secretly) that I enjoyed the lessons for a specific reason. It wasn't because of Hernán, and it wasn't because I got to spend more quality time with my half-sister. I liked it because I knew something Cordelia didn't just by simply observing her interact with the Spaniard who was most likely twice her age.

She liked him.

"We'll move on to age groups," I told Cordelia as we proceeded with our lessons. St. Augustine was already visible and miraculously, _I_ wanted to squeeze in one more translation before we hit land. "Let's translate, 'I am such-and-such years old'."

She nodded and turned to Hernán and gave the French translation, and he rapidly voiced the translation in Spanish. He had even already started translating before Cord had finished her sentence, and I figured that he must have had a very thorough understanding of the French language.

"_Tengo diez y nueve años_," he returned, rather bleakly if you asked me. It seemed as if dealing with two rambunctious girls was already taking its toll on him, though, his growing disinterest in educating us did not stop Cord.

She faced him completely as she tried to regurgitate the phrase, and I nudged her with my elbow as she stumbled over her words purposefully so that he would correct her.

"No, _Señorita_," he'd say. "_Tengo diez y nueve AÑos_." And she'd stumble again.

I prodded her shoulder in the middle of her sentence and caused her to choke on her words yet again, and she whisked her head around, glaring at me with an intense hatred. I smirked at her until my eyes squinted themselves shut and piped up:

"How about we translate, 'I like H—'" She kicked me hard in the leg before I could finish, and I ended up leaving my joke off with a yelp.

"Dammit, Cordelia!" I howled as I rubbed my sore thigh. "It was just a little ruse. That's all. God, why—"

She kicked me again.

"_Niña_," called Hernán as he reached out to keep her from striking me again. He managed to get a hold of her while I hobbled off now having to comfort two bruised legs. Thankfully, that was the end of our lessons for that day, and we all took upon our docking duties as we neared the port.

We were fully docked but ten minutes later and Jack was already making his way to the gangplank, hat in hand. His orders, as always, were quite simple. The entire crew was free to carouse in the town as long as they came back before sundown with some useful information. I asked him if that included me as well and he said that it very well did. The only exception was that if _I_ was going to go into town, I'd have to take Cordelia with me, and we had to be in the company of at least two other male pirates (to ensure our safety, as dictated by Captain Sparrow).

I knew, however, that Cord was in a foul mood and probably didn't want me near her for quite some while, and I was very much correct when I asked her if she'd like to go into town. She declined fiercely.

And so I was left with nothing to do and was obliged to sit on a barrel on the pier while Cord played with her dolls on the ship. I'd instigate friendly conversation with any sailor or person who passed by or with any individual who addressed me, which were few. Tom had gone out into town, as did the rest of the crew save for Gibbs and Ana Maria, and so I was stuck dilly-dallying on an empty barrel, watching the clouds float by and witnessing every nautical vessel enter or leave the port city.

"Ye doin' fine all by yer onesies?" yelled Gibbs from the ship, and I replied that I was save for the fact that I was bored out of my mind.

"Go into town then. I'll tell Jack that I gave ye permission, so ye don't have to worry 'bout gettin' into much trouble, lass."

_Ah, finally. A good bloke._

"Thank ye, Mista Gibbs!" I shouted gratefully before leaping off the barrel and running into town.

My lack of spatial awareness miraculously did not interfere with my jaunt through the establishment, and I was surprised to find that I could easily navigate the area. It was either that or I was just lucky for once. I was also spared any man's wandering eye due to my unkempt appearance and shapeless garments, and therefore the safety of my being was not one of my primary thoughts. Rather, I had set out purely to find a bite to eat and happened to be awarded much prosperity in my search. Food was cheap, delicious, and unique, and I had used delectable viands as my guides through the streets and motivation to continue exploring. After all, I still had to find some useful information to report back to Jack, and I was positive that he wouldn't be interested in the varieties of Spanish victuals.

I had just exited a bakery with a meat pie (half in my hand and half in my mouth), and nearly chucked the half in my mouth out of my drooling jowl after immediately spotting one man I did not expect to see and was thus alarmed to know that he was there.

Acting quickly, I darted behind some ale barrels lying in front of a neighboring tavern and snuck in another peek at the fellow, hoping that I had just misinterpreted his face. I didn't. The person I indeed saw was none other than my dear brother.

It did not take as long as it usually did for me to process that if Roland was in St. Augustine, then his captain, Mad Anne, would also be. Though, what puzzled me was why the hell they'd still be there. Wouldn't they have gone out to find the treasure by now? A part of me wanted to do nothing but confront Roland and to hug him and bash his head in for being alive, and I was already inching up on my feet until I found that the surprises didn't stop at my discovery of Roland. Oh no. I was continuously hit in the face over and over again with wave after wave of intense shock.

Roland happened to be discussing some sort of secret matter with a rather large bloke whose back was turned to me, thus keeping me from seeing his face. I figured by his dress and stocky build that he was one of Mad Anne's pirates and that he and Roland were holding discourse concerning Mad Anne's orders for them or other private matters. However, Roland raised his arm and pointed down the street as if he was directing the heavy man to go to a certain place, and with a short nod of his head, the pirate did go down the street in such a direction, revealing not just Roland, but also my notorious new Spanish tutor, Hernán.

_Bloody, bloody hell! Traitorous blackguard!_

A horrified gasp escaped me as I shrank further behind the barrels and now my heart had begun to pound so brutally that I thought it'd pop out of my shut lips at any moment. I could hardly believe what I saw. _Hernán was working for bloody Anne Flint!_ And soon after I made such a discovery, I put two pieces of information together and uttered another gasp when I understood that Hernán was probably spying on Jack for Anne!_Good God!_ And the more I eavesdropped, the more I found out.

It turned out that Hernán did not _only_ know Spanish, the no good liar. He was speaking fluent English with my vile brother and he was telling Roland about how Jack was in port! _Damn him!_ No wonder he translated what I said so quickly during our lessons. He didn't bloody understand an ounce of French. He knew what to respond with because he could understand _me_. And now he was betraying his dear captain! _Bastard!_

So bewildered was I that I accidentally elbowed the barrel I hid behind and the clumsy thing rocked, then swayed, and then tumbled over, revealing me in all my meddlesome shame; and, stupid as I was, I got up at once, showing my stupid self to both Roland and Hernán who had heard the small disruption and faced me. Roland's eyes widened at my sight and Hernán merely raised his eyebrows. Seeing as it was a very uncomfortable (albeit dangerous) situation, I bit my nether lip, took a step back while chuckling nervously and then bolted the hell out of there as if Mad Anne herself were chasing me.

I sprinted to the docks wailing like a deranged banshee and rumbled down to our ship and the rest of our crew, screaming "JACK!" at the top of my lungs. I was thankful to find him, Tom, Guerra, and Baudin standing by the ship in a little circle and most opportunely interrupted their talk with my incoherent howling; and as I tried to explain to them all what I had found, Jack and the others did nothing but stand, a bit taken aback by my shouts, looking at each other warily as I made my absurd argument.

"Astrid, love," said Jack calmly, breaking my verbal string of panic. "Deep breaths, darling. Deep breaths." Tom demonstrated what Jack requested of me and inhaled and exhaled loudly through his nose, accompanying the act with appropriate, but mocking, gesticulations.

Nonetheless, I quieted myself down and when I had convinced them all that I was in a more audible mood, I blurted out:

"Hernán is working for Mad Anne!" And then I hurriedly shut up, clasping my mouth shut with both my hands. Then, remembering the part about Roland, I added, "And Roland is in some alliance with her too!" And then I shut up again.

Jack looked from me to Tom, who looked at Guerra, who looked at Baudin, who looked back at me, and I was glad to note that all of them looked just as bemused (but certainly not as fearful) as I was.

"Hernán?" said Guerra, fingering his mustache again. I had to let out a giggle. "But he's such a good young man. He wouldn't. I would have known about it."

"But he is! I saw him with my very eyes, and you know what?" I returned, my voice rising with every word. "He's a bloody liar! He was speaking English and he told Roland that you're here, Jack! He peached!" Jack, seemingly concerned for once, turned towards Tom and said, quietly:

"When he comes back, tell him we all need to have a little chat, aye?" He then turned to me and asked, "Where's Cord?"

"What do you mean? She didn't come with me," I stated flatly.

"Wot?" He crowed.

"You can ask Mister Gibbs. He saw me go off. Cord didn't come with me." I prayed that Cord was just playing some trick on us and was hiding in a barrel ready to pop out. But it was no trick. After asking for the ship to be searched, Ana Maria came back, worry fresh on her face, saying that Cord was nowhere to be found.

_Oh, bugger._

"You!" Jack commanded, nudging Tom. "Go into town to find her."

"But—" protested Tom but he was put down with Jack's boisterous, "Oi! Go!" And off flew the Irishman.

We waited for a good hour before Tom came back with no Cordelia but with the rest of our crew, and by then the sky was beginning to get dark and Jack was getting antsy.

"Where's Hernán?" I asked, after finding that he was not in the group. I wanted to find him so that I could tear him apart for being a filthy, wretched traitor.

"Not part of the crew anymore, bonnie," replied Tom, his voice at a low. "He decided to… switch captains."

"That dirty cur!" I spat.

"Calm down, love," Jack intruded. "Hernán will be taken care of shortly. We're bound to run into Anne here anyway and we might as well be ready. Tom, get the crate. Baudin, Guerra, get your men aboard. We're leaving port tonight."

"But you didn't even buy anything, Jack," I aroused, surprised that he had brought us all to St. Augustine for re-supply and yet he had not stocked but one barrel of rum onto the ship.

"Well, if we manage to catch Anne, she's bound to have lots of the good stuff. Now, Tom did ye find that crate?" The rest of the crew passed by us as they made way up the gangplank and back onto the ship, leaving Jack, Tom, and me on the wooden dock.

Tom heaved up a crate and dropped it onto the floor, right in front of my feet.

"And why are you throwing an empty box at me, Tommy?" I posed, raising an eyebrow at him. He merrily responded with a grin. Jack laid a hand on my shoulder and leaned down a bit to look into the empty black cavity of the crate.

"Astrid, Anne's got one piece of cargo left to load onto the _Pearl_."

"That cargo being…?"

"You," answered Tom. I issued my glut of objections instantly and was only silenced when Tom picked me up without warning and plopped me into the crate. I landed hard on my bum and looked up at them both with blood in my eye.

"You ain't gonna trap me in some crate, Jack!"

"Astrid, I told you you'd be useful later on," Jack said, speaking to me as if I should have seen it coming. "And since Hernán has decided to stab me in the back, well… now it's your turn to stab Anne's, savvy? All I'm asking you to do is to stay in this crate for tonight. Then, when you're brought onto the _Pearl_, you'll break out and pose as some distraction for Anne or her men, just long enough so I can get my ship back. That's it. The rest of the planning is up to you, seeing as you have no problem making distractions."

"What if I can't break out?" I asked, doubting my abilities to break out of a wooden crate like a rabid, muscular beast.

"You will," answered Tom with full conviction. "Now shut up, take in a deep breath and get comfortable in yer new bunk 'cause yer not gonna get any fresh air for a good eight hours," he griped as he held the crate lid over my head.

"No. You drill a small air hole, you drunken Irishman. Yer not gonna suffocate me in a box, 'specially since I treated yer gun wound," I demanded with a scowl. The two pirates exchanged looks and both of them shrugged, and I took it that my wishes would be granted. Sure enough, Tom took out a pocket knife from his boot and poked a hole, about an inch or two wide, in one of the corners of the crate lid. Then he placed it over my head and trapped me in a cube of gloom before saying, "G'night, bonnie."

The first few minutes in the pitch-black crate were not as bad as I thought they'd be, but any confidence I had in my future comfort was eradicated as the minutes turned into hours. I could scarcely breathe in the box and I often had to wake from my slumber in order to put my nose up to the little hole to restore my poor oxygen supply. That in turn disturbed my rest, as if having to sleep in a cramped little crate wasn't bad enough, and therefore by the time dawn was approaching, my eyes were dry, my limbs were sore, and my head pounded.

I remained in a half-awake state until voices and footsteps became audible, and I perked up and noticed that Roland's voice was one of them.

"This is the one, aye?" he said. There was a soft tap on the crate lid, and I drew my arms and legs in, thinking that Anne's crew would tear off the lid, find me, and then kill me.

"Aye. We'll take it aboard," was the reply given to Roland, and I noticed the voice too. It was Hernán's.

Without further question, the crate was lifted up and I had to keep myself from expelling a gasp, holding onto the sides of the crate as I tried to stop myself from rolling about on the shaky trip back to the _Pearl_.

I suffered through several bumps, shakes and quakes before being discarded insensitively onto a hard flat surface. I was grateful that the impact of the crate hitting the hard deck did not break my only safety barrier at the moment, although the impact did do a number on my poor bum.

As the voices and steps faded away, I crept up to the little hole in the crate lid and tried to look out of it. The only problem was that I only saw darkness, not to mention that it smelt of reeking, wet, moldy wood. _I must be in the hold_, I deduced, backing away from the hole and then putting my hands under the lid with the intent to push it off. Only, it wouldn't budge. It was nailed shut. _Dammit! You bloody liar, Tom!_

I pushed again, this time using my head along with my hands and still it would not break free, and seeing as my upper body strength was not up to the task, I shifted position and put my feet up against the lid before kicking it as if I was kicking Griffith smack in his crotch (with a _heeled_ boot). The wood splintered and cracked and my left foot popped out, except it was the only part of me that surfaced. What made it worse was that not only was it the sole part of me to emerge, it was also stuck.

_Christ, Astrid,_ I thought as I tried to pull my foot back out, but the splinters had caught and poked through the cheap leather of my boot and if I yanked my foot out with all my might, my boot would still remain. _Come on, you bloody—_

Amidst my constant grumbles, I was able to discern the sound of someone's nearing feet, and I panicked and pulled all the harder. Whoever was coming must have thought of my outward situation with more than just mere confusion. What would one think upon seeing a booted foot sticking out of a crate that, somehow, was shaking with considerable force?

There was a soft tap on the crate lid.

"Astrid?" it whispered. I stopped fidgeting and recognized the voice.

"Go to hell, you traitorous—"

"_Callate,_" he growled, cutting off my accusation. What followed was the sound of something metallic hitting the crate, and before long, the top of my box was pried open with an iron rod and there Hernán stood, a lantern in his hand as he glared down at me.

"Get out quickly, please," he ordered, offering me his hand. I declined and remained sitting in my cube.

He sighed and set his lantern down before heaving me out of the crate kicking and cursing at him, and for that, he set me down on the ground speedily.

"I'm not going with any traitor," I issued adamantly, crossing my arms and turning my head.

"Your brother is waiting for you," he answered plainly, disregarding my strict conditions and walking away, expecting me to follow simply because of the information he uttered. I frowned inside. Why was it that men always said things that moved me to follow them? Couldn't I ever disobey?

With a huff, I got up on my feet and miserably trailed behind him. He paused right in front of the door leading to the 'tween decks, and I looked at him, wondering why he was hesitating.

"You've been on this ship before, haven't you?" he asked, placing the lantern on a nearby hook and retrieving something from a cubby in the dim.

"Aye. Why is that important?" He didn't answer directly and handed me a dark and heavy robe of some kind, telling me to put it on. "What is it?" I questioned, as I put it over my head.

"Your disguise. You are a monk coming to bless the ship." He laughed lightly. "You've come at my request as I am a Catholic man, but you are not to speak to anyone except to utter prayers. Likewise, Mister Turner has also allowed you a safe passage to the closest monastery, and as he was the one who thought of this plan, I doubt Anne will have any protests." He handed me a rope to tie around my waist loosely and then placed a rosary made out of wood in my hand. "Your name, _Señorita_, is Father Rosario." He lifted the hood of the robe over my head so that it shadowed most of my face before blowing out the lantern and opening the door to the crew of the _Pearl_.

I held my breath.

Magically, we, or rather, I, was not harassed or beaten to death as soon as I stepped out. There were, of course, the occasional deriding comments about monks and priests and the like, but that was expected from a bunch of drunken, black-hearted thieves. Remembering my false identity, I began to imitate a monk in deep meditation, bowing subtly every now and then as I murmured under my breath, my fingers clinging to my sacred wooden beads; and I kept the act up until we reached our destination: Roland's quarters. Hernán knocked, brother answered, and all the while, I had gotten so used to my new identity that I did not stop bowing and praying until he had let us in, locking his cabin door in the process as he laughed.

"I owe you much, Spaniard," grinned Roland as he sat himself in a chair and picked at his newly apparent facial hair. He had grown a little bit of a beard and mustache in my absence, making him look strikingly like his father.

While he was exchanging his salutations to the Spaniard, all I could do was gawk at him. Now that he was up close, I could hardly imagine Roland in his sophisticated mid's uniform. He was dressed shabbily in dirty pirate wear, his hair was greasy, his arms were tanned, and what's more was that he had a tattoo on his wrist! What madman was I standing in front of?

"You're sister's here as promised," said Hernán, gesturing towards me while I looked absolutely appalled at Roland's appearance.

"Astrid!" he chimed, coming forward to hug me, but I backed away.

"You dirty, wily little bastard!" I screamed. "What the _hell_ have you done to yourself!" He took a step back and observed himself with a shrug.

"I got more… pirate-like?" he answered dumbly, smirking sheepishly at me. I gave him no opportunity for warning and swished the beaded rosary at his face. He dodged it and laughed.

"Relax, sister," he said calmly, trying to soothe me. "All this? It's fake." He licked his thumb and wiped the tattoo of a mermaid on his wrist. Ink came off.

"Then why the hell are you boasting fraudulent tattoos?"

"You'll understand if you stop screaming and let me explain to you what's happened. By the way, appearance seems to be the key to success on this piece of hell on earth." He motioned for me to sit, and sit I did, after removing the monk frock. Hernán stood by the door, leaning against the wall, perhaps acting as our lookout should Anne want to spend some alone time with her First Mate.

"So what has happened, Roland William Turner? It seems like you forgot that Anne nearly tried to kill me and that she was the reason why Bennie and Dobbin and Andre are probably drowned and rotting in the pitiless sea!"

"What did I tell you about screaming?" he grumped, threading his facial hair again. I rolled my eyes. "I was well aware that Anne was, and still is, trying to kill you, sister. For a good while, I thought you were dead and if you must know, I wept when Anne told me she drowned you. I wanted to throttle the cunning whore, but I couldn't. Her crew was her power and they'd murder me before I even had the chance. I had no choice but to conform into her crew, and the first few days were agonizing. I was tormented daily." He revealed a scar on his upper arm and then provided me with proof that he was flogged by showing me the scars on his back which were still on the mend.

_Poor boy._ I apologized instantly for being so rude.

"It gets better," he assured me. "And I'm not being sarcastic. It does, indeed, get better. With Anne thinking that I had finally gotten my act together, she took it upon herself to make me her new _favorite_ crew member."

"Don't you dare tell me that you slept with the hag," I seethed.

"All right," he said. "I won't. It's not relevant anyway. All that matters is that Anne was quite pleased with my performances, and she appointed me First Mate much to the dismay of her loyal and aching crew. They had been with her since the start and what does she do? She makes a spiny lad of seventeen her first mate just because he was devilishly handsome. I decided that I wouldn't shove my new rank in the faces of her crewmates. I found it a prime opportunity for mutiny. Therefore, when we docked in Tortuga, Anne had me in charge of the crew while she decided to go back to her roots for a night. And let me tell you, sister, I got a good deal of liberal ideas in the heads of those drunken dolts that evening." He gave a jolly whoop at the memory. "Of course, I was doing it for you, Astrid," he added. "I wouldn't let Anne's actions go unpunished."

"That's very thoughtful, brother," I commented. "But I do find your claim hard to believe."

"It gets better," he grinned. "While Anne was out in town, her supposed husband came on board demanding to see her. I asked the fellow why and he said that he had a mission for her. Apparently, some new strumpet got him drunk and robbed him of his money. I promised him that I'd get said strumpet for him if he gave me his alliance. I had him swear it. He did without hesitation and told me that the tricksy little baud what cheated him was named… _Astrid._"

Scarlet flushed heavily onto my cheeks.

"Now, about that," I began, but Roland hushed me.

"Don't worry. I didn't snicker to myself when I heard it. I laughed uncontrollably. Firstly, I just learned that you were alive and that you cheated yourself out of Tortuga. I thought it was bloody brilliant, sister. But, since this man, Nathan, I think his name was, promised his allegiance to me, I told him that I would have loved to do what he asked of me, but that Anne, in a fit of rage, had killed you. He, outraged at his supposed wife, came storming back into town. Anne was given a hell of a beating and our stay in Tortuga was extended from a day to a week. We didn't see Anne at all for that whole week, and when she came back, she was in no mood to jest. She had two crewmates flogged for no reason and then she wanted to speak to no one except for me. I used that to my advantage. I'd tell her lies every chance I could and she'd believe them, and while she was busy sulking in her cabin, I was busy getting her crew to follow _my_ word, not hers.

"And now we find ourselves here. Anne is aware that Jack is close and she plans on getting rid of him once and for all. She doesn't, however, know that _you_ are here, thanks to Hernán. And now the plan is falling exactly into place."

"What plan?"

"Astrid, Anne's reign is failing. Her crew hates her and she's hesitating to get the treasure your rings lead to because she hasn't gotten over what Nathan did to her. Jack's right around the corner and if he comes at the right moment, we can go ahead with the mutiny and maroon her on a bloody island. Jack will get his ship back and he'll have me and my crew. Don't you see it, Astrid?"

I nodded with a yawn.

"All right. That's the plan. What do I have to do with anything?"

"You're going to be a distraction. What else did you think you were doing?"

I paused in my thoughts and wrinkled my eyebrows at him as I tried to recollect everything he had told me.

"Wait, so Hernán is _not_ Anne's spy?"

Roland smacked his forehead.

"Of course he's not, you idiot!" he yelled. "He's been spying on her for _Jack_. I came across Jack while he was out in town yesterday and we came to an accord."

My eyelid twitched at the information and I growled. _Why, thank you, Daddy, for telling me that you already knew what was going on but made me feel like I was still important by making me do another stupid task!_

"So what do you want me to do?" I asked tersely.

"You need to make sure that Jack's crew gets on board safely. Anne still has plenty of power and she can command her crew with threats. You need to make sure no one knows that Jack is coming. You need to distract the crew, Astrid."

"Why don't you?" I protested. "They look up to you."

"_I_ need to distract Anne. Hernán can help you, if you want him to. Though, I don't know how _he_ can keep the attention of hundreds of pirates unless—"

"Don't even start, Roland," I interrupted, disgusted with his tone. "I'll figure something out. But how am I supposed to get around without revealing my identity?"

"That's where Mother Nature comes in, sister," he cheered, scurrying to the porthole in his cabin and lifting it. He pointed outside. "Fog. Quite dense if you ask me. Now, off with you and—"

All three of us froze simultaneously as a horrid voice echoed from down the hall. Anne was calling for Roland. He hurriedly bade me to hide, and Hernán shoved me into Roland's sea chest, which was even smaller than the crate, before promptly sitting on it. I shortened my breaths as Anne's voice entered the room and my heart began to beat loudly in my ears.

"Were you talking to someone, Roland?" she sang. I could just picture her coming to him and laying her hand on his jaw just as she had done months ago when we first met.

"I was just telling…" He coughed. "_Miguel_ about the monk blessing the ship," returned Roland, a bit too nervously for his own good.

"Ah, about that," started Anne. "I paid a visit to the hold and a crate seems to have been broken into."

_Dammit._

"I'd like you to check it while I have a word with your new Spanish friend. I find him quite _bonito_."

_Oh no, Roland! Don't leave!_

"O-Of course, Anne," he complied. "I'll be right on it." There was the shuffle of a few steps and then the shutting of a door, and then the trouble brewed back up again.

"Get up," Anne ordered. I heard the familiar 'click' of a primed pistol and panic coursed through me. I heard Hernán get on his feet. "Open the chest." What followed was a very, _very_ long pause, and then the lid of the chest was starting to lift, and I squealed before I could do anything else.

"I should have known!" she snarled, grabbing me and hauling me out of the chest. I toppled to the floor and tried to get away, but Anne's chuckling moved me to halt my escape. "Oh, don't even try, you sly, mangy bitch," she said, advancing with the pistol pointed at my head.

"Roland!" I screamed, but she beat my face with the nose of her gun and silenced my mouth.

"Let's see what Jack has to say when I have _both_ his daughters ready to die for his stupidity." She grabbed my hair and yanked—_hard—_and proceeded to drag me out of the cabin. At least, she planned on dragging me out, but Hernán tackled her from behind, his hands going directly for her neck to choke her, and she struggled beneath him, cursing and spitting while I raced for the door.

"Hernán!" I called. "Get your arse out of here!" He stole the pistol out of Anne's hands before rushing out of the door with me and we shut the door as soon as we could, locking it from the outside as Anne pummeled the brittle door with a series of forceful kicks and swears.

Without thinking, we sprinted for the above deck, and as soon as we emerged from below and into the open air, we were met with the thickest fog I had ever witnessed in my life.

"I can't bloody see a thing," I remarked, surprised that I could barely see anything two feet in front of me. No one commented on my observation and I was driven to call out for my Spaniard. "Hernán? Are you there?" I felt around in the mist and touched someone. "Hernán?"

"_Si_?"

"Oh, good. I thought you left me."

"Keep quiet," he snapped, and I frowned at his severity. All I did was care about his well-being and he had the nerve to reply bitterly to my concerns. Though, I soon found out why he told me to remain silent. Anne had broken free from the cabin and was raging up to the upper deck, shouting for her men to search for us. Only, she was just as shocked as I was to see the fog and she cursed her misfortune most openly.

"Cap'n!" came a call. "A ship's come alongside! It's Sparrow!"

I tensed. _Jack._

Hernán tapped my shoulder gently and whispered for me to follow him. I then asked him in return how I'd follow him if I couldn't see him in the fog, and we came up with the simple solution that he'd just hold my hand. Somehow, he managed to weave us through the fog and the searching hands of Anne's crew to the side of the ship where Jack's small vessel was closest to, and we caught a whiff of our captain's conversation with Anne.

"And you expect to claim back yer ship with yer little toy boat, Jack dear?" Anne sneered. I wrinkled my eyebrows. He wasn't using the French warship we captured.

"Aye. Plus, I hear that ye have some special cargo on board."

"Indeed, I do," she answered. "Your daughters in fact. Ready to be blown to bits for their conniving little deeds, that they are. Ye wouldn't want to see yer little 'daughter of the sea' shot in the head, would ya? Or funny little Astrid bleeding out her pretty ears and pretty blue eyes, eh?"

My eyes widened at the discovery. Anne had kidnapped Cordelia!

"I was wondering where those two went. I'm glad you found 'em for me, Annie. Now, I'd appreciate it very much if you return the miscreants to me."

"Oh, no. I simply can't do that, Jack. They're on my ship. They are _my_ property now. And you're going to have to fork over more than just your hat in order to get them back."

"What if I give you my Irishman?"

"You plan on selling me a man for _both_ your daughters?"

"I thought you could use another man in bed."

A shot was fired afterwards.

"Jack!" I shouted, on instinct. Hernán covered my mouth, knowing the danger I had just put ourselves in and Anne went after us like the queen of the underworld bent on unleashing hell.

"Cap'n!" came one of her crewmate's cries. Furious at yet another interruption, she hurried back to the larboard side of the ship, peering over to talk to Jack again, but she shrieked instead.

"Where the bloody hell is he!" she bellowed. "Destroy that damn boat and pray that he's in there or someone else will die in his stead!" Another shot was fired. "All hands on deck, ye lazy, two-faced mongrels!"

As Hernán and I crouched still by the larboard rail, hidden well by the fog, we felt the deck beneath us thunder as Anne's dreaded horde of men stampeded from below, their ascent deafening and formidable. I prayed in my head for Roland and Jack to come out to save the day soon because I knew I would not be able to escape Anne's grasp if she ever got a hold of me again.

There was another soft tap on my shoulder. I veered my head to the side and Hernán whispered for me to inch up towards the railing. I did so, softly, and peered out over the edge. All I could spot in the impenetrable fog was the stern of Jack's little boat, and by the looks of it, no one was onboard. The ship swayed back and forth lifelessly.

"Where is he?" I asked Hernán, but he didn't answer. He only nudged me further and ordered me to climb over the rail and down the side of the ship. I responded to his commands with an expression of pure disbelief.

"Are you mad?" I whispered. "I could fall into the sea."

"Better you in the water than on a ship where every man is looking for you. Go."

"The ship is bloody moving, Hernán. I won't be able to keep my balance and where the hell am I going to go?" He was losing his patience, I could tell. His jaw became stiff and he looked directly at me, a fierce glower in his eye.

"They'll weigh anchor. You _must_ trust me, Astrid." I shook my head at him. I couldn't trust him, which was a rather stupid thing to do since he had saved me from Anne once already. Either the fear had gotten to me, or my prejudice was still ruling my mind. "Go, Astrid. Now." I bit my bottom lip brutally before swinging over the rail and descending awkwardly down the side of the ship. I only felt safer when I heard Anne shout for her crew to weigh anchor, and I began to take more consolation in the Spaniard's words.

"I want this damn fog cleared away," barked Anne. I decided to be more careful about my descent, as Anne's voice was getting nearer by the second. "Tell Turner to bring up the little Sparrow. If Jack decides to use fog on his side, I'll use blood on mine."

My sisterly worry betrayed me and I squealed out to Hernán something about Cord's safety, and he only delivered a command to silence me in response, which was exactly what Anne wanted to hear.

"They're near the larboard rail!" she cried, and the numerous feet of a pack of monstrous, bulky trolls came charging straight for our unlucky positions.

I knew I wouldn't reach Hernán in time, and so I hoped to pose some other distraction by causing some uproar on the deck below. There was a port hole nearby, and I scooted over to it and lifted its hatch before slipping through, relieved that Anne had summoned all her men to the deck above. Such an order left me safe and alone in the lower deck. Or so I thought.

Pausing for a moment and listening for any warnings signs above, I considered firing a gun to distract Anne's pursuit to kill the Spanish spy. However, I alone would be unable to accomplish such a thing. Firstly, there was no cartridge and I wouldn't be able to bloody budge the gun so that it wouldn't fire at anything important, like say Jack's tiny boat. With cannon-firing out of the question, I decided to find some pistols and fire a few shots, and so I then ventured off to locate the armory.

After my search failed on the deck I was on, I went below to the deck beneath and opened many doors and many hatches searching for a bloody pistol. I was only one deck away from going into the hold, and therefore I knew the armory had to be somewhere close. Only, as soon as I found it with an inward "A-ha!" a familiar metal form touched the back of my head and I froze.

"What the hell are ye lookin' for, bonnie?" was the voice that followed and I spun around, ready to tackle Tom for spooking me.

"A pistol. And whatcha scarin' me for?" I demanded, pushing the gun nozzle away from my face. And then after rethinking the action, I lunged forward and took the pistol from him.

"For not doin' yer job. You were supposed to bloody distract Anne and her crew! Now you made Hernán do it!"

"_He_ told me to go, so I did. Now we need to make a distraction so that he comes out alive." I cocked the pistol and laid my finger on the trigger.

"No!" Tom snapped, slapping my fingers. "Our whole bloody crew is down in the hold with Jack and if you fire that _now_, Anne will have the upper hand. Now put it away."

"So what are we supposed to do then?" I asked, getting irritated. "Hernán is probably dead by now!"

"Your fault, bonnie," he said, retreating back to the hold.

"Fine. If you want your bloody distraction, O'Brian, I'll give them a distraction!" I tucked the pistol underneath my belt and then sprinted up the stairs to the decks above, fearlessly stupid as always, and snuck back into Roland's cabin, which wasn't too difficult to find considering the fact that its door was blasted away by Anne's flaming wrath. I snuck in and crawled out of the porthole, knowing that if I scaled up that side of the ship, I'd eventually hit the quarterdeck.

The fog was still as dense as ever when I reached my destination, and I was able to land on the deck clamorously without being shot on sight. I was fully aware, however, that Anne's pirates were within hearing distance, but because of the fog, they were unable to detect who made what noise and who was going where. And now, having dumped myself back into a pool full of hungry sharks and thus giving myself the sad position of "prey" I found it the smart thing to do if I stuck close to the railing of the ship. That way, I kept a good idea of where I was while also keeping myself from becoming entirely lost in the mist and completely exposed to Anne's entourage.

I managed to scoot over to the side of the ship where the mizzen shrouds were, and after carefully pulling myself up onto the ratlines, I crawled up the ropes until I reached the mizzen top, the platform on which I stood on as I prepared to reveal myself to Anne's blind crew. Gathering my breath, I cleared my throat and shouted:

"Hullo, you dirt-eating scumbags! Looking for someone?"

What followed was the loudest grumble of deep, manly curses and roars that ever descended on the earth. _Good Lord, Astrid. Get your arse out of here!_

Trembling with fear and excitement, I dashed off the mizzen top and darted straight for the shrouds. Only, as soon as I latched myself to the ropes I realized that Anne's pirates would probably be climbing them up in order to get to me. _Wonderful_. I winced for a second as I tried to think of another way to escape getting strangled to death. I knew that men usually went aloft using the top half of the shrouds. It was rare for any sailor to ascend the lines by climbing the ratlines with his back towards the deck. And assuming that such a path would be safer, I swung over to the bottom half of the lines and awkwardly inched my way down, hoping to God that I wouldn't lose my footing and fall to my demise.

I was right in my assumptions, and many feet and fingers did pump up the shrouds. I didn't budge and merely clung to the ropes for dear life. There was the occasional brute who stepped on my fingers and my teeth dug deeper into my nether lip as I tried to suppress a scowl. However, the mob of men speeding up the shrouds eventually subsided, and I took that time to cautiously make my way down back to the top deck.

I landed on the floor on my tip toes, not wanting to make any noise. Though, trying to rid myself from making a sound wouldn't protect me much longer. As I looked up, surveying my surroundings and trying to sense if an enemy was within arm's reach, a spoke of sunlight pierced through the fog and hit my boot. _Dammit._ The sun was going to shine its bright, yellow head and the fog would soon dissipate.

"Have you found the tramp yet?" yelled Anne from afar, which was a good sign. I deemed that she was near the bow of the ship, probably holding Hernán as her current captive.

Her men gave her the obvious reply: no. They hadn't found me yet, but I feared that it would only be a matter of time before they did manage to catch me, especially with daylight's grand entrance drawing nigh.

"So she doesn't want to show herself, eh?" returned Anne grumpily. "Fine. Well, I have a message for you, little Sparrow." She paused. "I'll blow yer little Spanish spy's brains out o' his pretty head if you don't come out within the next five seconds. One…"

I thought about her threat for less than a second before popping out my own question in response.

"Well, if ye can't see me in the fog, how am I supposed to show meself?"

She parried my cheekiness with a strict, "_Four…_" I was jumping from anxiety and panic, and blurted out:

"I'm by the mizzen shrouds!"

A strong gust blew over us, and a great deal of fog was swept away; at least, enough of it was eliminated for me to see the vague distant figures of both Anne and her men. And if I could see them, they could definitely see _me_.

"Gotcha now, sweetie," cooed Anne as she approached, and to my surprise, Hernán was not with her.

"Where's the Spaniard?" I questioned before her pirates got to me.

"He got away. Quick little devil. But you, dearie. Youwon't, and Jack's not here to save you. God knows where that loon's gone off to." I was transferred to her grasp, and although she was no bigger than me, she made sure I wouldn't try anything by sticking the nose of her pistol smack into my ribs.

_Ow._

"I'm just about had it with your schemes. I tried to kill you once and what happens? You live. This time I'll make sure you don't make it out of this situation alive." The pistol clicked.

By now the fog had completely cleared away, and we were all standing in broad daylight, the sun beating down on our heads and the wind picking up again. And to think that I'd die on such a beautiful sailing day._Curses_. I shut my eyes as I awaited the lethal blow.

"Um… Anne?" squeaked one of her crewmembers. She looked up, annoyed at having been disrupted from executing me, but when she looked up and when I pried open an eyelid, I saw a blade getting cozy with the neck of one of Mad Annie's pirates, and standing right before us was none other than Captain Jack Sparrow himself.

Anne shrilled like no tomorrow.

"And where the _hell_ did you come from, Jack!" she screamed, pushing me aside as she raged at him.

"Yer cabin quarters, missy," he answered. "Ye got a lotta nice clothes in there too. Must come in handy when—"

_Slap._

"Shut up!" she spat, stamping her foot and nearly chucking the whole pistol at his head. "_Shut the hell up!_" She had exhausted herself so much with her yells that she was out of breath, and she gazed around her in pure agony, noticing with furrowed brows how several her men were at Jack's mercy by sword point. But she didn't panic, she didn't surrender, she didn't weep. In fact, after observing the circumstances under a twitching eyelid, she seized my arm and jammed the pistol back into my ribs.

_Oww._

"A matter of leverage, huh, Jack?" she grinned as I squirmed at the gun nozzle drilling into my side.

He didn't answer and merely held his hands up as if to calm her down.

"I'll shoot," she said at length, somewhat unsure herself. "I'll kill the most precious thing to you, Sparrow. And for what? For a ship? Some father you turned out to be," she scoffed.

"You're not the only one with _leverage_, Anne," intruded another, this time coming from behind. I couldn't see who it was on account of the fact that Anne had me positioned in an immovable stance, but I didn't have to look. I could distinguish such a brotherly voice from anywhere.

_Huzzah for you, Roland!_

His claim was followed by a threatening and subsequent 'click' of another primed pistol posed and ready to go off right behind Anne's oval head. She chuckled nervously.

"You don't have the constitution for that sort of thing, dear Roland," she laughed, turning her head sideways and giving him that bewitching Tortuga-wench stare. "Put the gun down."

"You're wrong if you don't think I'll shoot, Anne. I will. I've killed many men. I'm not afraid to kill my enemies. And therefore, I am not afraid to kill _you_." His voice came out somewhat hollow despite their stiffness. He was tense and scared, although he hid it rather well, and I wished on his better fortune that Anne would not manipulate his emotions and shame him out of his heroic entrance.

"Then shoot, darling," she encouraged with a lick of her lips. I gagged. She spun around, tagging me beside her and parted the front of her shirt to reveal her white breastbone. I gagged more. "Right here," she said. "Straight into my heart."

"No," said Roland at last. My eyes widened with fear. "A quick death is too good for you." He kept his gun aimed at her but much of his guard was let down. "Davies, take her away. Clap her in irons and gag her… and if you can, gag her with a small mouse in her mouth. Her breath reeks of rat sewage anyway." The same burly man I saw Roland speak with at St. Augustine broke from the clutches of Jack's crew and approached Anne, a grappling hook in his hand, and a belaying pin at his belt.

The she-captain was outraged.

"How _dare_ you, you piece of—" She degraded her hostage crew with curse after curse and swear after swear. "I give you gold and women and drink and pleasure and you thank me by mutinying?" She swore again. "How _dare_ you! _How… dare… you!_"

"You will restrain her, Davies," Roland reiterated, more fiercely this time. "She makes you work day after day. The labor is back-breaking and she uses your fellow shipmates as animals to abuse and torture in her frustration. You will apprehend her. She has mistreated you for years. You _will_ go through with the mutiny."

"Mutiny my arse!" fought Anne. "You listen to that stupid boy, gentlemen?" She cackled hideously. "I promise you great treasure if you stay loyal to me. And oh the possibilities you will have when you obtain such riches, boys. You will be happy forever."

I was getting tired of the persuasion antics Roland and Anne were trying to express to the stupefied crew, and I had no choice but to speed the matter up, and what better way to do that than stomp on Anne's helpless foot with my heel. She howled, I ducked, she aimed, she pulled the trigger, but two shots were fired, and I was caught twixt the firings.

I couldn't breathe. Something wet slid down my face and I went numb, not daring to see what it was.

"Astrid!" Roland ran to me and grabbed my face, and as he drew his hands away I saw the blood.

"Is… Is that m-mine?" I quavered, shaking as my breath continued to come up short.

He didn't answer me. He just kept holding my face and shaking me.

"Don't fall asleep, Astrid," he said. "Don't. Stay awake, sister." Worry flooded his eyes. "_Stay awake…_"


	34. Whirlwind

_Chapter 34: Whirlwind_

**I** stood on the deck of the _Pearl_ with my left hand clutching the crucifix of the rosary that hung from my neck. It was night and silver strips of moonlight broke through the dark clouds gathering overhead, and the robust, ailing wind left a stinging sensation on my face as I looked at Roland, who stood beside the rail. His back was turned to me, but I had no intention of speaking to him. There was nothing to talk about.

We thought that the worst had already happened. We had battled Anne and forced her to surrender, though I was unconscious during the entire event. From what my brother told me, of the two shots fired, both hit something. One nearly lodged itself into my brain but missed by a thread. The other embedded its hot, round self into Anne's shoulder, and she fell back. The shocking thing about the whole ordeal, however, was that she never fired, even though I could have sworn that she did. Roland had. Jack didn't even have his pistol primed and Tom's was still stuck in his belt. The other who had fired was someone from afar, and adventurous Cordelia was the one who continued Roland's story from that point onward.

Roland's shot was the one that hit me. He insisted that it was an accident, and I believed him. I knew he would never try to purposely and physically blow my brains out. Perhaps he had contemplated the thought after arguing with me on numerous occasions, but they were just empty thoughts, silly thoughts. Cord, having been with the gunman who shot Anne expressed the tale with such magnificent zeal that I had a good guess as to who fired the saving shot before she even said his name.

It was Hernán.

Roland interjected and took control over the story again and informed me that after he obeyed Anne's order and retrieved Cordelia out of the brig, he found Hernán trying to slide past Anne's henchmen on the upper deck. He left Cordelia with Hernán and instructed the Spaniard to guard his back at all times, but from a good distance. How he knew that Hernán would be a good shot, I had no clue, but it was a miracle indeed that the Spaniard turned out to be so helpful in the end.

Cordelia then regained authority over the storytelling and commenced to tell me that after Anne was shot, her men were detained and she was made to walk the plank with her bloody shoulder and all. She was gagged and nudged all the way off the plank and dropped into the water. Jack didn't want her to die, of course, as he was not a cruel man at heart. There was a nice little island nearby for her and her crew to live on until she was rescued (or died). And so as it was with the French, we, or rather, my pirate family, waved Mad Anne goodbye as she cursed them to the deepest pits of hell.

Of course, I was prompted to ask what happened to me while all of that occurred. Roland readily reported that I was hauled off to the lower decks and placed in a hammock where Gibbs tried to mop up the blood dribbling down the ugly gash on the side of my head. The wound was not too deep. It was easily stitched, and Roland teased me during the minor operation, which was thoughtfully conducted by Ana Maria. He never ceased to tell me that I was losing my perfect-portrait-of-a-lady image day by day. I didn't mind. A scar that stretched from my left temple to my ear was better than having a pretty mask to hide behind at all times. Scars were tangible evidence of truth and reality, and I had nothing to hide anymore.

I was unfortunate enough to have to wear a white dome of bandages around my head for a week or so while the wound healed, and my new temporary appearance earned me more nicknames from Tom. _Domey_._Momey_. _Headpiece_. Along with the infamous _bonnie_. I, in return, had nothing to call him except for _bloody Irishman_, but with Roland back, I didn't need to really call Tom anything. Roland knew more sailor jargon than I did, and his list of insults was quite long.

I find it essential now to note that Jack was aware of Roland's nature too well, probably because of his adventures with Will, and before we sailed off to look for the treasure my rings led to, our captain made it clear that the crew would have to split: half on the _Pearl_ and the other half on the French warship we captured. Jack's tiny boat wasn't in good shape anyway, and so we had it sunk after removing all its cargo. Jack, having a smidgen of paternal instinct in him, made it obligatory that his daughters stayed on the _Pearl_ with him. He assigned Tom captain of the French vessel, and the Irishman made a smart move and called Baudin and his men to accompany him on the ship. He tried to convince the Spaniards to join his crew as well, but Cord was determined to continue her Spanish lessons, and she waved Tom off brusquely.

There was much debate over where Roland would end up. Jack partly wanted the boy to be on the _Pearl_ so that he could make sure he didn't do anything stupid, although he was unashamed to admit that he was quite impressed with Roland's handling of Anne's surrender. However, Jack wasn't about to let Roland sail with Tom on account of the fact that Roland was a Navy man and Tom abhorred the Navy. In addition, surrounding Roland with Frogs wouldn't help his British patriotism either. So it was finally settled that he'd stay with Jack. And the rest of the crew was evenly separated afterwards on a unanimous accord.

Tom, to my utter grief, was compelled to bring up the matter of women to Jack. Teasingly, he said that he didn't find it very fair that all of the girls were on the _Pearl_, and Jack made the point that of those _three_ girls, one was too young, one was too old and one was too stupid. _Thanks, Daddy_. Plus, the only woman he could trust to be on Tom's crew was Ana Maria, and Cord needed her mum.

"You'll let us, you know, weigh anchor sometime and come and visit, aye?" said Tom with a smirk.

"Why?" returned Jack. "Do you feel uncomfortable looking at the backs of men for a few weeks?"

"Of _those_," he jerked his thumb over at the Frenchmen, "then aye, I do."

Baudin humphed.

"And do I need to bring up the fact that the supposed woman you are trying to bed declared that what you have below _your_ belt isn't up to par with what's below _ours_?" he questioned, frowning considerably.

So they bickered for a few moments before they ended up laughing over crude jokes and we went our separate ways afterwards.

The first task after setting up the crew was to figure out the coordinates to the treasure. The legend had it that the rings had the secret and I told Jack about the writings in them, but he told me that he wasn't talking about that particular hidden message.

He took the rings from me and scraped them vigorously against the edge of a table in the captain's quarters. It took a few scrapes before the gold surface began to peal and chip away. It wasn't real gold.

"Ah, there we go," he uttered as he stripped one ring entirely of its gold covering. "Cord, can ye get me that piece of paper and ink bottle over there, love?"

And once the paper and ink was placed on the table, he took the ink and poured a blot on the paper. He then rolled the outer surface of the ring into the ink and stamped it onto a clean space on the paper. There was a heading, or at least, part of one.

"Good God," I whispered in disbelief. "No wonder they were so heavy. They were made out of lead."

"Aye," said Jack. He stamped the other ring and we had our full coordinates.

It was my task to plot our voyage according to the coordinates and I took a compass and map and began to calculate and measure where the location of the treasure was and how far we were from it. It couldn't have been far.

I found the spot on the map and beckoned Jack over. He looked at it with a quizzical brow and flared his nose a bit uncertainly at the discovery.

"It's in the…" I started, awed with my eyes widening.

"Devil's Triangle," finished Jack, his eyebrows still wrinkled. "Well, that's convenient."

"We should have known that Jack Rackham would be clever when hiding his treasure."

"Aye." He nodded subtly. "Well, give Ana Maria the heading, Astrid. We have a treasure to find."

"Are you sure? It's the Bermuda Triangle, Jack." I wasn't ignorant about the dangers of such a place. I had heard of fleets getting lost at sea when entering that dreaded shape of ocean, men getting ill, sailors seeing odd and frightening things. I wasn't sure if I would risk all of that for treasure.

"Aye, it is, Astrid," he replied, taking a swig of rum. "But you forget who I am, love. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

For a few days, the weather was absolutely perfect for sailing. The wind was fair and refreshing, the sky was a deep, liquid blue, and the seas were lusciously mild and clear. I had a splendid time recovering from my head injury in the company of my sister, brother, father and fellow shipmates. We spent the days fooling around and working in flexible shifts. I loved the relaxed life as a pirate already, and it seemed that once aspiring Navy man Roland was even enjoying the lazy atmosphere.

We spotted dolphins the day before we entered the Devil's triangle. They were swimming in the opposite direction, down a southwestern path, and intrigued by the bulky, dark presences of our little fleet, they lingered around and wound around the perimeters of our ships with an adorable, memorable curiosity. Cord even named all of them as she stood on the rail, being steadied from behind by Roland. The only time she turned around during the whole show was to ask Hernán what the Spanish word for "dolphin" was. Equipped with her answer, she'd turn back and shout to her little glistening _delfines_.

But the dolphins eventually chose on a time to leave us, and they gradually departed as we sailed closer and closer to our impending doom. However, there was nothing we had seen in our days of sailing to foretell an unforgiving journey ahead. We had sailed for days with wonderful, perfect weather. Our suspicions were nonexistent.

Well, most of ours were. The Spaniards seemed mighty unnerved about heading into the Triangle, although at the time I didn't know why they would.

"Your men are ignoring their duty, Guerra," I said, approaching him one morning as he stood by the bow, his mustached mouth slightly drooping.

"Because we are entering evil territory, _bonita_," he answered bitterly.

"I don't sense anything evil. Besides, our captain is Jack Sparrow. He _knows_ the strange and he _knows_ the paranormal—intimately, if I might add."

He turned to me and his pale green eyes reflected a troubled worry in their dying glimmer. "He hasn't sailed here before. Ask him. He will tell you no."

"But he's been all over the world! He can't have missed this span of ocean, Guerra," I countered, not about to relinquish my faith in dear Captain Sparrow despite the fear Guerra was instilling in me.

"He hasn't. I've asked him," he returned curtly, biting his bottom lip. "There is something about Spanish men, _bonita_, that you must understand. We are more in touch with spiritual imbalances."

I scoffed weakly.

"Let me guess, because you're all Catholic, and Catholic people are highly superstitious and are therefore more in tune to communicate with otherworldly forces and beings."

"_Si_." He ignored my sarcasm for the sake of making me seem foolish. "You probably do not and probably will not trust our word, ever, but when it comes to the safety of our countrymen—"

"And captain," I intruded with a scold.

"—And captain," he repeated, rolling his eyes, "we're not going to be the ones comfortable with taking risks. You don't know what to expect from the ocean, Astrid."

A part of me knew what he was saying was true. There was no telling what almighty Neptune could conjure during our extended stay on his volatile territory, and I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to wait and find out if Guerra's premonitions were valid. The sky was still a cool, calming blue and the seas mirrored the façade of complacency visible in the sky. Therefore, I was apt to naively believe that our passage through the Devil's Triangle would be just like any other tread through tranquil waters.

But the concern Guerra and his men had for the well-being of their shipmates and captain was too evident on their light olive-skinned faces that I was obliged to ask Jack if the treasure was really worth all of that trouble.

"Guerra has every right to be worried," he said, tipping the wheel a bit to the right with his forefinger. "This fair weather won't last long. We'll soon be caught in a tempest of such terrible tempestuousness that we'll be trapped, terrified, in the tumultuous Triangle."

"That doesn't help my concerns, Jack."

"Oh, I know it doesn't. It doesn't help mine either, but these men came aboard looking for something to do, perhaps even adventure. And that's what I'm going to give them."

"Aye, you're right," I reasoned, nodding as I stared out at the distant horizon with him. "After all, you're Captain Jack Sparrow."

Guerra's assumptions were indeed correct, and we soon found ourselves stuck in the birthplace of several violent gusts that blew from every possible direction. The sails ripped and we dreaded each tear that sounded as the clouds began to collide and rumble in a growing gray mob. The once clear, collected water began to part, swirl and foam, turning dark as debris from below was brought up to the surface, turning the water into a metallic shade of grungy cobalt.

Jack stood firmly at the wheel, grinning out of the sheer excitement and danger of a brewing hurricane, and a cold, heavy rain pelted at us from all angles, soaking us from head to toe and leaving our deck slippery with its teary, dripping residue. Men skidded across the floor, struggling to keep balance while clinging to lines and rope for dear life. Our ship pitched left and right, forward and back, at such dangerous angles that I thought we'd all tumble off the boat and plummet straight into the roaring waves. What made it worse was that our vision was blighted in the torrent of rain, and I could barely discern the figure of a man standing but five feet away from me.

I kept Cord close to me. Her mum was too busy trying to gain control over the disoriented crew and she'd have no time to watch over her daughter in all the chaos. Roland attempted the same, to instill order amongst us all, but his voice, along with everyone else's was always pummeled by the bellows of the wind.

"Astrid!" he yelled, ducking as a wave lurched over the ship and crashed over the Waist. He was pushed into the railing, the only safety barrier between us and the merciless sea, and slid down toward where Cord and I ended up on the ship, tangled behind a mess of torn lines.

He came and pried Cordelia off of me, and managing to keep his balance quite well, lifted her up into his own arms as he directed me below.

"Get under-hatches!" He strained his voice in protest against the blasts of stinging air. I complied and made a run for the hatch near the shaking mainmast, hoping to make it down before the ship rocked again and sent me sliding down to some other part of the deck, but I wasn't fast enough.

A colossal wave pushed beneath the starboard side of the _Pearl_, water streaming up over the deck as the ship tilted on a horrific angle. We almost tipped over and I lost my footing and fell, having nothing to grab onto but the sleek deck that my nails scratched at to get a grip, but to no avail. I'd hit the rail any second and at the rate I was falling, I knew I'd either hit it and break my back or hit it and plunge into the sea.

"Roland!" I screamed, and I screamed all the harder as the ship slanted more. I fell faster.

"Astrid!" he shouted, his voice too distant for my own comfort. He yelled more but I couldn't understand him, and I collided into the rail, the wood cracking and breaking, my body pushing through, and the ocean's mouth ready to swallow me whole.

But I never fell through.

Someone had grabbed my shoulder and was in the process of hauling me up across the slanted deck, and I wasn't sure if he was talking to me because I couldn't understand what he was saying, but I could hear him clearly.

"Roland," I murmured weakly.

"No," he said. "Not him, but he's coming to get you." And that was all he said that I understood.

Brother did indeed come to get me and he got me safely below hatches and out of direct contact with the storm. I was locked in my cabin with Cord, and we huddled in one corner, waiting for the swaying to cease, for the lightning to fade, for the thunder to quiet, for the ocean to weaken. But her fury seemed fueled by an eternal power source. None of the things that we wished for ever came, and although I couldn't stand being trapped below while my father and brother and mates were up above taking in all the blows, I had to stay put for Cord's sake. I wouldn't risk her life because of my worry and curiosity. All we could do was wait, and wait…

…and wait.

I opened my eyes to darkness. I realized that I must have fallen asleep, and I predicted that Cord was fast asleep as well, for the weight of her head leaned against my shoulder, and I could hear her soft, steady breaths in the pitch darkness. Judging by the lack of light, I deemed that it was evening, and by the familiar lilt of the ship, I guessed that the storm had passed or was on the ebb.

Gently slipping away from Cord and making sure her head didn't plunk to the floor, I exited my cabin and was met with darkness again when I opened my door. Not even a lantern had been hung.

The floor was wet and the smell of the sea hung heavily in the still air. A mellowed-down saltiness was present in the humid atmosphere and I stepped in puddles as I crossed over to the ladder leading to the above deck. Though, it had occurred to me as I set my foot on the first step that I hadn't detected any footsteps here on the deck I stood on or on the deck above, which meant that no one was moving.

_But if anyone's awake, it's Jack,_ I told myself as I climbed up and lifted the dripping hatch. As I took a peek around the deck, I noticed that no one was present. A pale light was shed on the ship from the moon that was shrouded with clouds, and wondering what had happened, I stepped fully onto the deck and tiptoed to the wheel.

No one was there. Our ship was being steered by no one. In fact, the ship wasn't even moving. At that specific observation, I hurried over to the capstan and noticed that the anchor had been weighed, and I had one of my questions answered. I still didn't know where everyone was.

"Hullo?" I called, cupping my hands around my mouth. "Jack! Roland!"

I received nothing. Getting a bit antsy and getting terribly worried, I searched all over the deck to see if I could find any of them but I couldn't. There weren't even clues.

Our rigging was a mess and so I counted out going up to one of the tops or the crow's nest to see if I could spot anyone or anything from above. I did, however, step up onto the quarterdeck and looked out, and still, nothing. I almost gave up on my search and was about to go below when I spotted some lights in the distance. They were incredibly bright in the thick blackness, and I watched them inquisitively, wondering who had made them and where they came from.

At first they all stood in a straight line, one light after another, seemingly glittering on the horizon itself. But then they started to move. They began to shake, and then they seemed to fly up, curving around in their paths as they intricately made their way up into the sky that was absent of stars. A ray of light from the moon pierced through the mist and landed on the deck, but like the distant lights, the ray moved, it swept over the entire ship before vanishing back into the dark, and I had stood deathly still during everything.

_What the hell was going on!_

Paranoid beyond belief and chilled to the bone from terror, I sprinted back below hatches as soon as the lights had passed and I didn't feel as if I was the only being alive on earth anymore.

Panting, and with a cold sweat streaming down my face, I ran back into my cabin and checked to see if Cord was all right.

She wasn't even there, and my heart stopped.

Seeing as something very strange was going on, I abandoned the unnerving silence of that deck and went to the deck below, and finally, _finally_, I found comfort.

The deck below mine was lit, although dimly, and I saw Cord in Roland's arms as he gently rocked her back to sleep as if she was but a babe. Even if it was a tender moment between the two, I couldn't help but express my relief in finding him and I ran to him and hugged him tightly.

"Good God! I thought Cord and I were the only ones left on the ship!" I remarked as I let him go.

"Sorry about that. We didn't want to disturb you, but the deck above is flooded, which you probably already know. Cord came down crying, saying that you had left her."

"I did not!" I defended, glaring at the sleeping countenance of my sister. "I went to look for everyone. I was well aware that it was too eerily silent and so I investigated."

"Ah," said Roland as he set Cord down in a slung hammock. His, I presumed. "Well, did you find anything?"

I pondered over whether I should tell him about the lights I had seen. I decided not to. He'd have thought me a loon anyway.

"No. Where's everyone else?"

"Sleeping!" grunted a voice in the shadows of a far off corner. It was Guerra. "My men are cold, ailing, sick and fatigued." He continued to rant. "Gives us our peace, _bonita._"

Frowning at the words, I turned to Roland and asked where Jack was.

"He's on Tom's ship. When the storm died down, we weighed anchor and Jack and a few others went off to see if Tom and the rest of our crew were all right. They should be back by morning if not sooner."

"Oh."

"An _you_," he began, pointing a finger at me, "should probably get some rest. We'll have a lot of work to do tomorrow. That was by far the worst storm I have ever been in. I'm surprised we didn't lose anybody."

"Let's hope it stays that way, brother," I said as I laid myself opposite Cord in Roland's hammock. "You don't mind if I sleep here, do you?"

"No," he sighed, clearly disappointed that he had nowhere to sleep now but too devoted a brother to see me sleep on the dank floor. "Go ahead."

When morning did come, it came with a most appetizing smell, and such a pleasant odor was what woke me from my deep, sweet slumber. I realized that I was the only one left in a hammock, which wasn't a surprise. No one ever bothered to wake me when something important was going on. I rose and stretched my arms, noticing that my clothes were still a bit damp from last night's downpour. The smell of the sea was less heightened in the decks of the ship and I was able to follow the smell, and I wound up at the galley, happy to see the majority of the crew up and eating a well-deserved breakfast of collops, biscuits and grog.

I sat myself down with the Spaniards, placing myself next to Guerra, and after reaching over the makeshift table for a piece of bacon, I asked him what he thought about our treasure hunt now. He still ended up disagreeing with me and my hope.

"Well, have you been above decks? How does the sky look?" I inquired, stuffing my face with the greasy meat and bone-dry biscuit pieces.

"It's blue," he said bluntly. One of his men laughed and added, in Spanish, "Like her eyes."

Obviously, Guerra was still upset. Why he was still upset, I did not quite know, but I chewed more slowly after the remarks, finding more conviviality in the food I was processing in my jaws than in the people around me. I was determined to find out what was bugging Guerra. If he was irritated, there'd be the likely chance that his men would also be, and that was the last thing Jack needed: disagreement.

"Don't mind him, Señorita," said Hernán suddenly, catching me completely off guard. I looked up and saw him further down the table, drinking from a tankard. "He didn't get much sleep last night."

"Was it because of me?" I asked timidly, remembering what he had said before I settled into a hammock with Cord.

"No," he answered. "He just couldn't sleep."

I bit my lip a bit at the information. Guerra had every opportunity to sleep last night, so why didn't he? I leaned in a bit, closer to him and looked up at his disgruntled face. I observed some beads of sweat on the sides of his face, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Guerra," I began, getting up and tapping his shoulder. He wouldn't look at me.

I glanced over at Hernán and he looked a bit uneasy himself over Guerra's strange behavior. I suspected that Guerra was sick, that perhaps he had a fever, but I wanted to make sure he wasn't just angry over something, especially if that something was Jack.

Hernán got up from his own seat across from us and leaned over, peering at Guerra and speaking to him directly in Spanish. Guerra would only murmur indiscreet things. I was moved at that point to feel his forehead, and when I laid my hand on his forehead, I discovered that the poor man was practically burning.

"He's sick. Get him to a hammock." And as I stepped back to let Hernán and another Spaniard help Guerra to the berth deck, Guerra confirmed my diagnosis and vomited on the floor.

Roland noticed immediately and had it cleaned up while I went after the Spaniards to make sure Guerra was given proper treatment. He was set in a hammock and given a drink of grog before being left alone to sleep. However, I lingered a bit behind, wondering with a great curiosity over how he could have gotten ill. There was the rain from the night before and many of us had slept in our damp clothes. That could have made anyone sick. I decided that his sickness would pass soon enough and left him to his rest and went up to the above decks.

The sky was blue as Guerra had described and I found that Jack had returned, with Tom back on board too. The French vessel was anchored right next to ours and I was glad to see that the other half of the crew and their ship didn't suffer much damage.

I was obliged to give Tommy a tight, genuine embrace and he seemed mighty happy to see me too, smiling at me without the lustful gleam in his eyes. However, as I had given Tom a welcomed, grateful greeting, I offered the same to my daddy and clung to him longer while he attempted to converse with Tom over the matters of repair.

"Guerra's ill," I interrupted. Though, it wasn't much of an interruption since illness was something that needed to be fixed and mended as well. "Do you have a medicine chest in case things get worse, Jack?"

"Not on this ship, love," he replied.

"There's one on my ship," said Tom.

"Well, there you go," Jack beamed. "Now go grab Astrid's chest, O'Brien."

I stared at Jack in disbelief, shocked and disgusted that he had just said a thing. Did he really say that without realizing the disgraceful pun in his words?

"Well, don't mind if I do," chuckled Tom, coming close. I shoved him away.

"Don't you dare, you pirate bastard," I snarled. I glared at Jack. "Did you even hear what you just told Tom to do, old man?" I screeched.

"What? I just told him to…" His voice trailed as he came to realize what he had unintentionally hinted at. And at the discovery, he shuddered. "Oh."

I shook my head. "Just get the medicine, Tom, and be quick about it. I have Spanish lessons at noon."

Without further conflict, Tom went and got the medicine chest and set it down at my feet. It wasn't as big or grand as Cavanaugh's, but I deemed it would be enough for our meager crew. After all, only one man was sick at the moment, and by the way things were going, I doubted any more would fall ill.

I rummaged through the numerous bottles and containers in the wooden box, opening and sniffing them to identify what the hell was in each. I discovered that most of them were either cathartics or emetics, and I was not about to make Guerra purge his sickness away. However, there was the chance that they'd come in handy, and so I decided to keep them all. I had the medicine chest placed in Jack's cabin, seeing as they had made the proper surgeon's cockpit into another cabin. Afterwards, I decided that caudle would be the best treatment for Guerra and I went down to the galley to prepare it for him.

"Playing the crocus now, are you, sister?" Roland snuck up behind me and flicked my head. I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow at the mock and glared at him.

"No one else seems to have the medical knowledge," I reasoned, shaking a bit of cinnamon into the tankard I was preparing. "And what's wrong with helping a fellow crewmember?"

He shrugged and took the tankard from me, sniffing it, exhaling, and then handing it back to me.

"That's quite strong," he commented. "You trying to kill the man?"

"No. I haven't added the wine yet, you idiot. Speaking of which, can you heat some wine up for me?" Roland didn't budge and crossed his arms, giving me one of his infamous looks of rebellion.

"I'm not going to be your loblolly boy," he said, annoyed. "And why all this tenderness to the Spaniard, eh? Do you like him, Astrid?"

"And why are you asking such an irrelevant question? I'm helping Guerra because I'm the only one who can, and no one else seems to care that he's sick, except for his comrades." I paused and considered that what I had just said was more significant an observation than I thought it to be. "And that's the problem on this ship. You are still being a bloody bigot, what with your undying love for Britain and all, and everyone else is sticking to their own little groups. There are no brotherly bonds between anyone."

"Well, what'd you expect?" was Roland's halfhearted answer. He reached for a tin cup and poured in some wine, heating it on the stove with a carelessness in his actions. "I'm a servant of the King."

"Not anymore," I replied forcibly. "By agreeing to board this ship, you have pledged your allegiance to Captain Jack Sparrow, not anyone else."

"Damn it all, Astrid," he burst. "I like Jack. I'll be honest about that. He's a good man, but I'm not going to follow him to the death. I could hanged for it." And with that, he took the heated wine and poured it into the tankard I had prepared and left me.

I swirled the wine in with the spices and then added some watered-down gruel to the solution, mixing it all together before dipping my finger in it and tasting it for myself. After finding it satisfactory, I went down to the berth deck and walked over to Guerra, who was accompanied only by Hernán.

"Here," I said, giving the mug to the young Spaniard. "He's to drink it." Hernán nodded and took the mug carefully out of my hands.

"Thank you," he mumbled weakly.

"_De nada_."

Cordelia and I didn't have Spanish lessons that day. Hernán was too busy taking care of Guerra, so we simply idled about. Cord spent most of the time with Roland, as she had taken a great liking to him despite the fact that he knew she was French and really didn't want anything to do with her. But as she had charmed me and everyone else on the ship, she had charmed Roland into feeling some sort of special attachment to her. I figured that by the time she became a young lady, the lads would have to be kept behind bars in order to keep from getting to her.

I laughed at the thought.

_Oh, but Cord. What about poor Hernán? You're leaving him for this sorry man?_

Of course, even if I teased her about liking Roland, she was never the one to feel the shame because all the blame would be placed on me, and I would be the one punished. And so with Cord and Roland off frolicking about, I helped out with the ship repairs, sitting atop the yardarm with Sefu, a runaway slave. His English was limited, but I still talked with him, and he wasn't a relatively reserved fellow despite having endured the horrors of a slave passage to the Americas. In fact, he made me laugh often as he described his coming to the new world. He told me that he had a wife and two daughters back in Eastern Africa, which I thought strange since most slaves were taken from the West. When I asked him about that peculiarity, he said that he had gone to the West with his brothers to aid their ailing father. Unfortunately, they were captured as slaves, but he was the only survivor after the long and treacherous sea voyage.

"You'd like to see your family again, wouldn't you?" I asked as I handed him a line to tie.

"Yes, I would," he answered in his deep voice. "I hope they are all right."

"Well, once we find the treasure," I said, reaching for another torn rope end, "you'll have more than enough to go back to your family, and I'm sure Jack wouldn't mind you leaving. I think you deserve the reward."

He chuckled at that and returned to me the mended line. "You are very different from what I thought you would be."

"Why?" I questioned. "You thought I'd be like him?" I pointed down at Roland who was playing marelle with Cord. He looked ridiculous hopping on the squares she had drawn on the deck with chalk, trying to get to the little bag of grain she had made him toss onto one of the shapes. "You thought I'd be mean and rude?"

"Everyone can be mean and rude," he stated. "But you seek answers. So you ask questions. And then you learn."

I smiled. "Well, sometimes it's hard asking questions. Some people aren't like you. Some people don't answer."

Suddenly, from below, someone had called my name and I excused myself from Sefu's company and went down to the deck, finding that Hernán was the one who had summoned me. I came up to him and noticed he was sweating, and he seemed out of breath. He light brown eyes were glazed.

"What's the matter?" I inquired, trying not to peer too closely at him. I never realized how many freckles he had.

"Guerra is getting worse. He vomited again, and now he is shaking. There was blood in the spittle." His words were racked with panic and I was compelled to ask him if he himself was feeling a little bit ill.

"No," he answered. "It's just hot below." _Sure it is,_ I said inwardly, well aware of the fact that he was out here, in the fresh breeze, but was still suffering a bad case of sudation.

"You're lying to me." I set my hands on my hips and raised my eyebrows at him. He only grew more frustrated.

"I am not! Guerra is ill. Help him, for God's sake!" His outbursts were enough to convince me that his mind was mad with fever, and I took his arm and led him below, proud that I had proved him wrong but worried about the way things were going. If Hernán was now ill, there was no telling who else could catch the infection, whatever it was. Two people down with fever in a day was not a good sign at all.

"You stay in a hammock," I ordered. "I'll be back with something for you to drink."

"No," he replied stubbornly. "Guerra is the one ill. Not me. Get him medicine." I ignored him and left to get him his own mug of caudle, and on the way, I decided to make the issue known to Jack.

"Another one is sick," I said nonchalantly as I came up beside him at the wheel. "Hernán."

"The Spaniards are getting a bit of flu then, aren't they?" said Jack, not amused.

"I'd say so. Possibly an omen?"

"Possibly."

"What if the number of invalids increases? You won't have the manpower to sail the _Pearl_."

"Then you'd better make sure those Spaniards get well soon. The sooner we're out of this damned territory, the sooner we'll be safe."

I said nothing afterwards. I merely stared at him for a good minute, wondering how he could seem so aloof when two of his men were ill. Perhaps two wasn't enough to cause too much worry, but it was definitely worrying me, especially after all that turmoil from the night before. Too many lives were being put at risk.

But, as promised, I went down below, back to the galley, to make Hernán his tonic, and after giving it to him, he seemed eager to quaff it down, even though he had denied needing it earlier. _Silly Spaniard._ After putting him to rest and giving Guerra another dose of the same tonic, I let them be, hoping that no more would get ill.

But I was wrong.

Barely a week had passed and we were now down to four able people: Jack, Tom, Sefu and me. Everyone else was swaying in their hammocks, groaning and moaning as illness coursed through their fever-plagued veins. I was especially worried about Cord, as she was still a child and her cries of pain and agony were the ones that stuck out in the horde of low, manly grunts. Guerra hadn't woken up in days, but I continued to check his pulse. He was worrying me too as he was the one who was the first to fall. But no matter what I did or what I gave him, he didn't get better. So nobody else did either.

Even Roland had fallen ill and he was incredibly angry about it too. He cursed and raged while bedridden and his fever seemed to have made such an impact that it was now forcing his malcontent to a new level, one that even I was not familiar with.

But what puzzled me most, other than what the hell was making all of my crewmates sick, was why Jack, Tom, Sefu and I hadn't caught ill yet. I had been tending to the sick for days and no sign of illness from me. All three men helped me continuously, although it hurt their pride to do so (well, save for Sefu's), and I had to have them work quite aggressively in order to tend to the many, many sick. They were always exhausted by the end of the day, but they issued no complaints. It was all they could do. All _I_ could do.

"You haven't tried blood-letting, bonnie," mentioned Tom, more as a mumble than a clear suggestion. He sat in a wooden chair by Cord's hammock, his limbs splayed out and his head leaning back, his red hair matted to his skin from under his green hat.

Jack was in a similar position, lounging in another chair by Roland's hammock, his hat over his eyes and a bottle of rum in his resting hand. Sefu was above decks, keeping watch and keeping us aware of any changes in the weather or wind. Both of our ships had weighed anchor after Jack was unable to sail anymore due to decreased manpower.

"I won't bleed anyone, Tom," I returned from my own place by Guerra's hammock. "It's too messy and too time consuming. Nearly a hundred men need our help and frankly, I do not trust you to bleed anyone."

"All you do is take a lancet—" He thrust his fist into some imaginary object "—take it back out, put a bowl beneath the cut and there! Bloodletting!"

I did not value his sarcasm at all and snorted in reply.

"This all just atonement for your sins," Tom persisted, gesturing at Jack and me. We Sparrows instantly shifted our glances to him and frowned simultaneously. "God's punishing you."

Jack obviously disagreed with him judging by the look of disbelief on his face, and he happily put his hat back over his eyes before he spoke, his fingers moving and pointing at, really, nothing and no one.

"I dunno 'bout what sins you're talking about, O'Brien," he said indifferently, grinning afterwards. "I got that squared away years ago… when I was a member of the clergy."

"Ha! Right!" bellowed Tom with a raucous laugh. "Father Sparrow. That'll be the day."

"Clergy? Priest?" I echoed, a laugh on the tip of my tongue, but a sudden intrigue took over me at the mentioning of the church.

"Aye, love," confirmed Jack, pleased with himself. I knew it was a lie, but it suddenly gave me an idea.

"Prayer," I said, mostly to myself. "I haven't tried prayer yet."

"Oh, bollocks," muttered Tom. "Prayer doesn't bloody solve anything."

"You're probably praying incorrectly then," I countered, walking over and showing them the rosary Tia Dalma had given me. "You use this, don't you? It's some sort of sacred relic people use to pray, aye?"

Removing his hat from his face, Jack sat up and raised his eyebrows at me.

"Aye, but I don't know how to use it. I wasn't a priest, Astrid. It was a disguise."

"I'm not that bloody simple, Jack. 'Course I know you weren't a priest."

"Then why are you asking?"

"So I can pray." Both men lost their interest in my idea right then and there.

"Forget it, Astrid. Their sickness has nothing to do with their sins. I was just joking," said Tom, shrugging and about to rest his feet on Jack's lap. However, Daddy beat him to it and rested his own dirty boots on Tom's knees before the Irishman could even lift his heel. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"What you were about to bloody do," Jack muttered before the first snore escaped him.

"I'm going to pray," I told them both, though I could tell neither of them was listening to me anymore. With a scowl and a roll of my eyes, I left them and headed over back to Guerra, pulling a chair over plopping myself in it before I took the rosary off my neck and ran my fingers over the crucifix.

Then, after staring at the item for a good minute or two, I sighed and put my face in my hands. "I don't even know how to begin," I uttered miserably. "I have tried my best to help everyone here but no one is getting better. Why? What have I done or what has anyone else done to deserve this? This is horrible. First the storm, now this, our bad luck is having such a jolly week while we are stuck here suffering, trapped in a crowded ship with sick people and smelling like the rotting sea."

"I do not think the rosary starts that way, Señorita."

I looked up, my eyes readjusting to the dimness of the berth deck and saw Hernán looking at me from his hammock. His eyes were barely open, but he was the one who spoke. I was sure of it. Plus, he must have heard me. His hammock was right next to Guerra's. He had heard every word I had said.

"Then how does it begin?"

"It's a Catholic tradition," he informed me, his voice hoarse and weak. He beckoned for the rosary with a feeble movement of his fingers and I scooted over closer to his hammock and set the thing in his hand. "And you're not Catholic."

"I don't care. Why should it matter?"

"It doesn't, but not being British obviously does." He wedged the first bead above the crucifix between his forefinger and thumb, his eyes flicking upwards to look at me before he continued further. "Repeat what I say," he said. "I need to do this for Guerra also."

I nodded and patiently waited for him to begin.

"Don't just do it for him," I added. "Do it for everyone. We all need the prayer."

He didn't display any sign of consensus on my addition, but there was a very long pause between what I said and when he actually began praying the rosary. He didn't look at me when he uttered the starting sequence of words. He closed his eyes instead.

"_In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit…_"

I interrupted him.

"Don't close your eyes. I don't want you to sleep."

"I won't. I'm closing my eyes so that I don't have to look at you." _Well, I never._ "I'm not looking for you, after all," he said. "I already know where you are. You're here. Now, I'm looking for God." There was another pause and he opened one of his eyes and grinned somewhat despite his fatigue. "You should too."


	35. Playing with Sharks

_Chapter 35: Playing with Sharks_

**S**hockingly, praying did a miraculous job for my comrades; or rather, it did them tremendously well, but not at any of my doing. Oh, no. For me, praying did not a damn thing, but for my shipmates, it created wonders.

Hernán kept up with the entire praying suggestion I had established while I grew lazy with my own proposition. As he lay in his hammock, moving those tiny, rosary spheres between his fingers, I sat idle in a chair, moving my lips to what he was saying but not really _saying_ anything. I hadn't assumed prayer to result in an action monotonous and void of feeling. The consistent recitation of a couple of prayers over and over again did not exactly portray itself to me as an act of pure devotion to a particular and almighty deity. Even if Hernán repeated each prayer with the same dull tone, I never memorized any of them. I had not the patience or attitude to form the incentive required to be a dedicated monastic such as he, and I voted against emulating his Catholic traditions. Of course, perhaps my lack of involvement was what destroyed any further blessings from God. Hernán prayed just once and oh the wonderful things that happened afterwards! (for him, at least). I didn't know what Hernán was doing in that head of his whenever he sat down to pray, but whatever it was, it didn't work for me.

He himself was well again before the end of the week, and he was rapidly joined by numerous other folk, including my brother and sister. I was happy to see more people getting well (though through suspicious methods), and I wasn't hesitant to get them back to work, although Jack overruled any order of labor I issued. When I asked him why he didn't want any of them to do work, he simply told me that there was nothing _to_do.

_Why,_ one may ask?

There was no more wind.

And as if the puzzle over why the crew got ill and over how they recovered so suddenly was not vexing me, my father had the nerve to cheerily add that we had no more wind and were doomed in the dreaded, damned Doldrums!

"Well," I growled after Jack had told me such news. "Maybe Hernán can fix that problem since he's so damned lucky when it comes to curing _damned_ bad luck!"

"You might want to ask him for assistance then," he said, fully aware that I was angry and making it seem as if it was not so.

I shrilled and marched away, absolutely frustrated with how the twisted world worked. It was _my_ idea to start praying. Of course, I didn't think it would bloody work, but it was still _my_ idea and what happens? Some damned Don gets the credit!

"Maybe he's like that because he uses black magic," proposed Roland, adding a mysterious "Ooh!" noise afterwards with unnecessary hand motions. "You know, voodoo and all that pagan philosophy."

I only glared at him, but he ignored the message and continued to elaborate.

"A devil worshipper even. That's some evil work right there, sister. Evil—"

"He's bloody Catholic, you twit!" I burst, amazed at his stupidity. Roland shoved it off.

"God, Astrid. I bloody knew that," he answered tersely. "I'm not a damn simpleton. I just did it to peeve you." He turned around and leaned his back on the railing of the ship as he looked up the mainmast and at a little group of Spaniards up in the rigging. "The only way I see it, plainly, is that you have pitifully rotten luck and he's just a blessed bastard."

"Sure. Go and support the Spaniard instead of your own sister," I griped.

"He did save your life three times already," he countered. I shrank. "But then again, that could also add to the fact that he's just so damn lucky!"

I could have bitten his fingers for bringing it back to the luck subject.

"Oh, shut up! God, I hate having to compete with that." I grimaced and frowned until my face was scrunched and red in color. Why? Why was it always like that?

Roland laughed.

"You're jealous, sister!" he cried, sending his arms into the air as if signaling to the entire crew that I was, indeed, jealous. Yet, stupid as I was, I denied it, and it only convinced him all the more.

I made a sorry attempt to defend myself, saying that anyone in my position would feel the same way.

"No," Roland scoffed. "Only you, sister. Only you."

I cast the idea away. I was not jealous. Hernán was just lucky. Perhaps too bloody damn lucky for my own comfort, but it was just luck. But, dammit! Why the hell did _he_ get all the luck and I received none?

_Damn, unfair world. Damn._

The Doldrums were not a happy place to be when one was already quite angry with every surrounding person. To make matters worse, the _Pearl_ had sprung a small leak conveniently in the cargo hold and half of our food supply was rotting, and therefore, inedible. So it was no surprise that by the end of the next week, the crew members (all of whom had healed from the odd ailment that struck them but two weeks ago), were tired, sunburned, and starving.

I didn't even bother to complain to Jack at that point. I had given up. With no wind, we couldn't get to port, and if we couldn't get to a port, we could never replenish our nonexistent food supply.

"Your face."

I twitched at the sound.

I was sitting on the floor of the quarterdeck, my back leaning against the rail and my legs spread out in front of me. My eyes strained to keep open in the blazing light of the relentless sun.

"It's red."

I frowned all the more.

"Jack, I swear if you weren't my father, I'd have threatened to kill you already," I answered bitterly, pushing the words out through bared teeth.

He sat down beside me and dropped something onto my lap. I looked at it and my eyes began to water as the sun continued to blind me.

It was a bottle of rum.

"You seem to need it more than I do," he said, grinning his happy grin.

I popped the cork out immediately and brought the spout to my lips, elated that the rum inside the murky glass bottle was actually cool on my tongue. I glanced at him after I had blinked the water out of my eyes and tried to smile. But my face hurt from the sunburn.

"You seem to be taking our bad luck rather well," I mumbled, taking another gulp of rum but choking when I swallowed too much to handle. The rum spewed out of my mouth and onto the deck, right at Tom's passing feet.

He cursed and shook his foot at me. "Christ, Astrid," he moaned. "Now I have drunken shoes." I was too tired to return a retort, but it didn't matter. He had already walked off, going over to the waist to shout orders to his crew on his own ship, which was anchored right beside the _Pearl_.

"Bad luck, eh?" Jack echoed, looking up and squinting at the sun. "What do you suppose we do about it then?"

I shrugged my shoulders and drank some more. "We can't do nothing," I slurred, already feeling the alcohol's effects on me. "Too damn hot, too damn hungry, too damn everything."

He nodded his head as he grimaced, though, he certainly wasn't grimacing for the same reason I was.

"Aye. We haven't found that bloody treasure either."

The realization hit me like a rock on the side of my head and I spit out more rum in my mouth.

"You're bloody right!" I screamed, gasping afterwards. How could I have missed it? The treasure was the reason why we were suffering in the first place! And it had troubled me so much that I couldn't even complete my thoughts. "But it said—the coordinates—where is it? Are we lost?"

"Aye," Jack said calmly, nodding at me as I made the discoveries he had already found in that head of his. His thoughts, I wagered, must have been impossible to navigate. "We've been lost. Ever since that storm. But I'd say being lost is a stroke of good luck."

I gaped at him, my eyebrow raised and a shriek ready to burst out my throat.

"_We're lost!"_

His face, in reply to my cry of pure terror, contorted into an expression that would befit a man meeting the eyes of his reaper, and although awkward he looked, I could tell he would get over the fact that I was, in fact, mad as hell.

"Well, that wasn't so bad," he murmured to himself while I collected my breath and my bearings after such dreadful news.

The sun had become an even greater nuisance and my blood felt even hotter than before, pulsing through my body with rage in tow and making my temples beat angrily. Blinded by my fury, I had grabbed Jack by the shoulders and shook him.

"Why didn't you tell us we were lost!" I screamed. Again, he appeared unnerved, and he gently pried my fingers off him in a very delicate manner, almost as if he was afraid to touch me lest I lash out at his face.

"Well, it makes perfect sense if we're lost." His attempt to reason with me failed.

"_What!_"

He winced as the word was roared onto his visage, and he grimaced and rubbed the side of his face with his hand. I must have spit on him by accident. He wiped said spit on my trousers' leg, but I was too angry to care.

"Tell me, love," he began, seemingly bearing that same wise disposition that came out at random moments, "How do you find a _lost_ treasure?"

My fingers curled, turning my hands into claws, but I retracted my arms and instead waved my fists at the sky. "Ooh, don't make me _think_, Jack!" I groused, my voice raised another octave. "You know I can't solve your riddles. I never have. I never will, I…"

I continued to rant about the difficulties I encountered whenever I was asked to put my nonexistent wit into use and I wasn't sure what Jack was doing during the entire verbal assault, but I had a feeling that he was sitting there, tired and bored with my whining, rolling his eyes and threading his braided, beaded beard with his tanned fingers. My temper, evidently goaded by my consumption of rum, fueled my flamboyantly violent hand gestures and slurred, sour words as I flung my tantrum with as much self-restraint as a toddler. Meaning, in other words, I was acting no better than a child, and my conclusion flared out in such a manner:

"So, tell _me_, Jack, how the bloody hell _do_ you find a bloody, _damned_ lost treasure, _eh_?" I heaved a sigh afterwards and chugged the rest of the rum down, setting the empty bottle down with exaggerated force as I waited for his answer.

"I'm glad you asked, love," he rejoiced mildly. I sank and buried my face in my hands. I could not understand how he could remain in such a cheery mood after such disasters. "It makes perfect sense for one to be lost while one is looking for a _lost_ treasure, aye?"

I groaned and lifted my disgruntled face to him.

"I feel sick," I murmured. He inched away, but not after sticking the tip of his forefinger on my forehead and pushing me back a little as he looked at me.

"I'm sorry, darling, but if it wasn't for all the red on your face, I'd be able to tell you if you were green."

I moaned all the more.

"I know!" he cried, somewhat with mock enthusiasm. "What you need is to be in the water," he suggested, not a hint of mischief in the proposal.

"What were you saying about the treasure?" I asked, averting the conversation back to a matter of importance.

"We're lost, and the treasure is also lost, which means, it should be here," replied Jack, a bit too hurriedly for my slow brain.

"But we're not even on land. How can we dig up the treasure if we're at sea?" I wondered, and he smiled at that. And then I knew why he had suggested I go in the water. The treasure we were seeking wasn't _buried_treasure. It was _sunken_ treasure.

_Ohhhh…_

Immediately afterwards, Jack let the rest of the crew know the true nature of the treasure that had lured them in the first place and they scurried about like rats as they prepared boating parties. Of course, a good deal of them had to stay on board the ship to help unload whatever treasure was gathered, and I had every intention of staying on the _Pearl_ with Tom (and Jack, and Gibbs, and Cord, of course…) but Roland knew me too well and hauled me into a boat with him and some other crewmates.

The first thing I noticed when I was lugged into the boat was that there were rifles at the bottom. So, ignorant as I was, I asked why they were in the boat if we were just looking for gold. And as it was among males, they all exchanged a certain, unnerving glance and I grew cross at them. Roland even turned his head and coughed out a laugh before turning back to me.

"Well, sister," he said, "you can't always trust pirates."

And then they all broke out into raucous laughter and I didn't understand the supposed hilarity until the boat bumped against something. We were only some fifty feet away from the _Pearl_ and we weren't near any land. Nor were there any rocks jutting from the sea. It was almost as if something had hit us from below.

We all peered over the rim of the boat in hope of catching a glimpse of what hit us, but no one saw anything. We let the matter go, for a while, and had even settled on a spot to go swimming for treasure. Of course, _I_was told to stay in the boat and mind things while the men went out to fish for treasure, and I consented only because my skills as a waterman were clearly outmatched by theirs.

Only, before anyone took a dive into the clear water, the boat was hit again, and then again, and then again. The nudges were not of any great degree of strength, but they seemed to be increasing in force and number. Hernán, the oh-so-lucky one was the first to scan the water for whatever was causing us these disturbances and he turned back to us, his face expressionless.

"We have company," he said. "There's a shark nearby."

"No," added Sefu dourly, a warning in his voice. "There are many." Again, as a group, we all looked over the edge of the boat and sure enough, a couple of fins popped up from the water. I gulped and gently pulled on Roland's arm.

"We should go back and tell Jack," I proposed, but my brother and, not surprisingly, the rest of the boat crew, turned to me and frowned.

"What's a bunch of sharks compared to treasure?" Roland scoffed, getting up on his feet as he doffed his shirt. The other crewmates followed his example. "If you see a shark, sister, just shoot it. All of those rifles are loaded. Just prime it and pull the trigger. Oh, and of course, aim, but these—" He pointed at an emerging fin. "—buggers are _huge_! You're not likely to miss."

He got into a diving position, but I pulled him back.

"The fact that they are very, _very_ large is what worries me, _dear_ brother," I scowled. "Playing with sharks isn't exactly something that I'd deem safe."

"This coming from the girl who put herself in definite peril by enlisting in the navy disguised as a boy," snorted Roland. The others looked at me a bit befuddled, as if they thought _my_ crime was as bad as jumping into a sea swarming with man-eating sharks.

"That's not the same," I countered hopelessly. "Men aren't maneaters."

"Right," mocked Roland. "I forgot. Women are." He laughed and jumped into the water, and I shielded myself from the splash that followed. As his head surfaced, he grinned at everybody else. "Besides, I'm starving, and we're not bloody likely to get anywhere without finding some damn treasure. And I'm about through with staying on that godforsaken ship. Therefore, I'm willing to take my chances now, sister. I'm tired of being idle."

And with his little speech finished, he took a dip. For his sake, I grabbed a rifle and held it, looking at the water for any sign of a ravenous shark, but no fins came up. Roland surfaced some fifteen feet away from the boat and waved, and soon everyone else was off into the water, laughing, splashing, and treasure-hunting. I merely sat in the swaying boat, my hands still holding the gun, and I watched them all swim away. Most of them swam a great distance, at least forty or fifty feet, and I waited, and waited for any sign of their forthcoming return, but most of them just swam even farther out. There was the occasional bump against the boat, but I didn't bother to lean over and shoot the bugger what rocked the vesse;. The shark hadn't done anything to hurt me, so I found it fair if I not shoot him for not minding his surroundings better.

My face began to hurt again as the sun glared down on me, and my eyes began to water as they strained to maintain their focus in the hellish heat. The heat became so insufferable that my nose began to bleed, and I had no option but to dunk my burning head into the water for just a few moments while I tried to recollect my bearings and cool off.

As I leaned over the boat edge, my face submerged, and my tense body finally finding some easy, I began to notice that the waves were getting considerably bigger because I started to feel water flowing over and lapping against my head. I dared to open my eyes in the brackish sea and saw little red ribbons of flood flow out of my nose, but then I noticed something white and frothy in the distance. As I continued to stare, I noticed that there were hands and feet paddling through the water, and then I saw it.

There was a shark, striped and absolutely gigantic thrashing closely behind a panicky swimmer, its jaws opened wide.

I pulled my head out of the water, gasping for breath and reaching for a rifle before I stood and prepared to aim. Only, as soon as I got on my feet, I noticed that the man frantically swimming towards the boat for safety was none other than Señor Luck himself. A wicked bitterness overcame me and I huffed and lowered the rifle in my hands, removing my finger from the trigger. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Roland and some of the other crewmates realize what was happening and they started swimming towards Hernán for aid, but I knew they wouldn't catch him in time. They were all too far away.

"Dammit, Astrid!" Roland shouted as he punched through the water. "Shoot it!"

I didn't know what to do. My limbs had frozen and the rifle was useless in my hands. I would not aim, I would not fire, I _could_ not aim, and I _could_ not fire. I couldn't. How could I when this foreign youth, who had all the luck in the world, was finally the unfortunate one, and more so, unfortunate enough to be at my mercy?

"_Help me!_" he cried. His strokes through the water were weakening and the shark's massive head loomed out of the water.

"_Shoot it!_" Roland's order pounded against my ears. "_For God's sake! Dammit, Astrid! Shoot the damn shark!_"

By that time, Hernán was exhausted and his motions slowed and stumbled.

"Help me," he pleaded wearily. "Please…" And then his head sank beneath the waves.

I swallowed hard and lifted the gun, but I started to shake. Tremors racked my body and the rifle dropped from my hands. Roland was swimming all the more aggressively now as was everyone else, and I knew he would unleash hell upon reaching me. I was only separated from my fears when Hernán resurfaced, this time screaming as the shark took large, deep gulps of water as it tried to wedge his foot in its mouth, which it eventually managed to do.

The shout that followed made my blood ice over and I shrank in the boat, crouching down as I covered my ears.

_Just get up and shoot it, Astrid. God dammit. Shoot the bloody thing!_

But I couldn't muster my mettle. Not after all the hate I had for the young man. Not after secretly wanting him to get hurt for some time now. No. I couldn't.

The boat tipped a bit as someone got in. It was Sefu, and without even looking at me, he grabbed a rifle, primed it, aimed, fired, and then seized another rifle as he made another shot, and then another; and he kept shooting until the shark was floating on the dark, bloody water, its jaw lying open limply and Hernán's mangled leg finally free.

And after the deed was done, Sefu looked at me and said, tonelessly, "Go and bring Hernán to the boat."

I hesitated to comply, but his glare on me made me aware of my shame, and I, duly chastened, obeyed the order. When I approached Hernán, who was barely even conscious, he clearly refused my help.

"I'll swim there myself," he told me, his voice more of a dry rasp, and I had nothing to say to him in return. I wasn't quite in the Samaritan mood anyway, so I let him be and simply followed him back into the boat; and by the time we got back there, everyone had returned and Roland's fury was adequately represented in his eyes. I wouldn't have been alarmed if he had lunged forward and snapped my neck.

"Don't say it, Astrid," he fumed, his teeth clenched. "Don't you _dare_ say you're sorry because you evidently are _not_." He pushed my head with just enough force to make my brain hit the walls of my skull before commanding me to sit and stay put until we rowed back to the _Pearl_.

They took hooks stored at the bottom of the boat and hauled the dead shark alongside. Why they decided to keep the shark, I did not know, but I did not ask for my own sake. I could still feel their anger brewing, and their resentment was boiling up rather swiftly. Hernán was still awake, but he already looked half dead. His left leg was in horrible condition. I could see the puncture wounds with frightening clarity, and the edges of every wound were jagged, shredded, and blood spouted from them as if they were fountains.

Roland didn't speak to me. All he did was breathe his annoyed breaths out through his nose in vicious snorts. His hands were still balled into hard fists, and I was just waiting for a beating, my shoulders already hunched and my knees already brought in close to myself as I bent my body into a ball of breakable security.

When we came along the _Pearl_, the shark was heaved onto the deck, with its pungent blood still trickling out of its large bullet holes. Jack came sauntering from the quarterdeck and down to the waist, particularly amused with the dead, giant fish thrown onto his swabbed floors. While Roland and the others helped Hernán onto the ship, I stood beside the shark and watched Jack poke the corpse, not only with his fingers but also with the tip of his boot. And then after he made his examinations, he stood upright, took a step back, threw his hands into the air and said:

"All right. Cut 'im open!"

The pirates lifted the beast up by its back fin and tied it up, upside down so that its broad mouth hung but inches from the wet deck. Tom took hold of a cutlass and after deciding on a spot to slice, swung the blade down on the creature and ripped its skin open, allowing for its innards and remaining blood to spill onto the floor. Only, as he made the slit against the shark's belly, blood and guts weren't the only things that plopped out. To our amazement, a metal clanging pounded on the wooden deck, and hundreds of little gold coins clattered onto the ground. There were so many that the shark's belly was probably stretched to its limits in gold doubloons, and a wave of gold surged over my shoes.

"Well I'll be damned," gawped Tom as he bent down and scooped up a handful of gold. "We found ourselves a treasure shark, lads."

A look of wonder was on every man's face, and they all gradually made their way towards the "treasure" shark. I turned to Jack, who stood looking remarkably unfazed by the discovery. He didn't even look surprised. If he looked anything, he looked miffed. "Aren't you glad we found the gold?" I asked him.

"You didn't find any gold," he returned, narrowing his dark eyes at me. "Neither did Tom. None of these scallywags found gold, love."

"Wot?" Tom squawked, dropping the loot from his hands and marching over to Jack. "How can you not say we didn't find your bloody gold?"

With natural complacence, Jack looked Tom in the eye and smiled. "Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but that shark didn't pursue _you_, O'Brian, did it?"

"It chased the Spaniard. So what?" grumped Tom. My vision was instantly averted towards the wounded Don and I said and did nothing because I knew that if I did, I'd only get angry, and I was already in enough trouble as it were. However, Jack's words weren't said at a whisper. Everyone had heard them and so attention was now set on the man who only desired the specific attention of a doctor to treat his injury. Instead, he received a mix of glowers and compliments, not medical treatment.

"What are you suggesting then, Capitán?" Guerra pondered, always seeking the best for his comrades.

"Aye. What _are_ ye suggestin', _Jack_?" questioned Tom, though with more cynicism than Guerra.

"I'm simply informing everyone of who deserves credit for this stroke of luck." His eyes moved to me at the mentioning of luck and I looked away.

"_Perdon_, Capitán," Hernán interrupted, raising his hand as he summoned Jack. "But I found this in the shark's mouth." He pulled something from his vest—it was a small golden box—and dropped it into Jack's extended hand.

Guerra, greatly puzzled with his fellow Don's find, turned to him and said, "You put your _hand_ in that thing's mouth while it was trying to _eat _you?"

The young Spaniard only smiled and shrugged.

"It was wedged in between its teeth," Hernán answered sheepishly. Guerra drew in an exasperated breath before crossing his arms and turning away, much like a father disappointed with his child would do. Meanwhile, Jack eagerly opened the box which couldn't have been much larger than my fist, and in it was a piece of cloth.

Aggravated grunts resounded from the entire crew.

"Ye know, Jack," started Tom, clearly irritated with how things were going. Though, I couldn't blame him. I would be awfully mad too if my crew was starving, lost, and dirt poor. "When you opened that bloody little thing, I was expecting something more… oh, I don't know… _shiny, _maybe? For God's sake, Jack! Diamonds! Silver! Jewels! But we get nothing but a damned piece of cloth!"

Having gotten rather reckless with his malcontent, Tom yanked the cloth out of the box and spread it out on the floor for everyone to see. All we saw were blurred lines of ink on a withering, rotting strip of canvas. More grunts ensued.

"Well, that's not what I was expecting," voiced Jack, signs of concern starting to shadow his face. Tom picked the cloth up and held it up towards Jack.

"Aye, I'd say a mess of—" He cut himself off, his upper teeth biting into his nether lip as his green eyes suddenly took a great interest in the back of the sheet. Going cross-eyed from his own astonishment, Tom began to stutter, and I had always found him to be a rather articulate fellow. "Bloody hell," he murmured.

"What? What is it?" I asked him, coming forward and standing on my tip toes behind him as I tried to see for myself what was making his limbs shake.

And then I saw it.

It was a map. A bit faded in some areas but it was nonetheless undoubtedly a map. Dotted lines were strewn all over the surface, leading from sea to sea, over mountains, across hemispheres, spanning the entire globe. As Tom was a rather tall fellow, I had to grip his shoulders and push him down in order to read the rest of the map, and even after doing so, I was unable to put a name to what the map was leading to.

"Obviously a treasure map, Astrid," said Tom all-knowingly.

"I bloody knew that, but _what_ type of treasure does it lead to?"

We never got to see for ourselves. Jack snatched the cloth out of Tom's hands and said, "Mine. You—" He pointed at me. "Stop flirting and help yer dying mate." He jerked his thumb over at Hernán. And then to Tom he said: "You, stop being an arse and get to hauling in more sharks."

"I wasn't flirting," I protested, going over to help Hernán anyway.

"Keep telling yourself that, darling," smirked Captain Sparrow. "And Astrid, love," he began, beckoning me. "We need to have a little chat later on."

"About what?" I asked stupidly.

"Luck and sharks."

Dread washed over me. I was now certain that he had seen me refuse to shoot the shark when Hernán was in danger, and I knew that _he_ knew why I didn't fire. Even after just having him enter my life, he seemed to understand how my mind worked, and I realized that I could not afford to be so transparent. Otherwise, he would be able to anticipate my actions, and if he could do that, he would never be surprised or pleased with what I could do.

I nodded at him and knelt down next to the Spaniard in need of my help, and behind me I could hear Cord giggling to herself and singing:

"Astrid's in _big_ trouble!"

Roland agreed with a growl. "Indeed. Astrid is in _very_ big trouble. And trust _me_, sister, if Jack doesn't chastise you properly, well, you can be sure as hell that I _will_." His glare hadn't softened and I was afraid to look him in the eye. I could always count on Roland to punish me for my wrongdoing. I did not know why he thought that my offense was of one of definite vice, but it did not matter. He was fuming mad and I had already learned long ago never to get in the way of his fury. Though brother he might have been, he was not afraid to hit me. It appeared as though familiarity, in my case, was more of a curse rather than a comfort. I only hunched my shoulders and crouched low as I inspected Hernán's wounds with carelessness. My mind was too occupied roving over the matters of my future talk with Jack and the possible lecture and beating awaiting me should I have to confront Roland. Perhaps my apprehension had become overwhelming, and as thus, it began to express itself on my face. How I was aware of that fact was when Hernán cleared his throat abruptly, catching me off guard.

I faced him, waiting for him to speak, and after wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, he took something out of his pocket and brought it towards me.

"Seeing as your father and brother are not too pleased with you, I think you need this more than I do."

And he placed my rosary into the palm of my hand as I winced at the remark.

"Thank you," I managed to say. His words hadn't comforted me at all. "Though, I don't think even God can save me now from Roland's wrath. I did an awful thing."

"At least you didn't let me die," he said, ever the optimist. I was ashamed to look at him then and turned around, sighing as I fiddled with the beaded relic.

_You don't know how much I wanted you to…_


	36. Dancing for a Prince: Part I

_Chapter 36: Dancing for a Prince_

_(PART ONE)_

"**I**ndia?" I whispered to myself, furrowing my eyebrows and leaning harder on Jack's cabin door.

The sun had set but minutes ago, and the sky was suffering the invasion of a wave of twinkling violet, but at the sun's leave we did receive one blessing. At least the temperature had gone down somewhat. Other than that, however, things hadn't much changed. The rest of the crew still meandered about lazily in the dying light, the last bottles of rum in their loose grips. Many of them had avoided me since our encounter with the sharks. Wouldn't want me to _almost_ let them die, too, now would they?

"Diamond? Yellow?" I paused and listened further, nearly wishing that my ear was part of the woodwork of Jack's door panel. "What? Damn! Speak louder in there!" I grumped, about to punch the wooden door in my frustration when I was interrupted with an ill-amused, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," I sang, spinning around and curling my lips. "I thought _you'd_ be in there"—I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at our captain's quarters—"Shouldn't you be?"

"Shouldn't _you_ be mindin' yer own business and not eavesdropping?" he retorted, stepping forward and pressing his ear against the door nonetheless.

"And yet you still follow my lead," I snickered, gracing him with my vexatious grin.

"Can't help it," he answered, honestly enough to my surprise. "You're a bad influence, sister." His eyes veered upward as he absorbed the spoken information going on in Jack's room. "Who knows? Next I'll feed someone to a shark or other man-eating beast." He laughed, and I repaid him for the jest with a painful pinch in the side.

"I treated him, all right?" I said in my defense, prompting Roland to take a break from the spying to tell me what he heard.

"Oh, really?" he returned, smiling in his frivolous disbelief. "How's the Dago doing then?"

"He's peacefully asleep," I hissed. "Now lay off it."

"Right. He's bloody asleep because ye drugged him with laudanum," he stated, scoffing slightly thereafter as he straightened his back and lifted his ear from the door. My mouth had formed the perfect 'o' of protest, but I retreated from arguing. He was right.

"Jus' tell me what ye heard, Roland," I demanded, tired of his disappointingly accurate comebacks.

"We're going to India," he said simply. "To find a yellow diamond that belongs to a prince that lives there. But before we go there, someone's going to get a mighty good lecture from her dad, isn't she?"

"Roland," I growled, readying my fists. "I told you to lay off it."

"Aye, I will, sister," he told me, a tad too bitterly for my own comfort. "I'll lay off it when the man you almost killed—might I remind you that in civilized society, that is called _murder_?—is well and on his two feet. And lucky if he still has both legs, considerin' it's more likely he'll get the one chewed up by the shark you refused to shoot amputated."

My eyes avoided his stare yet again, having always cowered from belittling confrontations, and I was placed in the position of child again, with my _younger_ brother in the position of parent, staring me down and chastising me. Something was terribly wrong with that picture.

"I'm probably gonna get this same talk from Jack, so I don't need ya to be actin' like my parent. So shut up," I grouched, pushing him back a bit.

He waved off my minute act of aggression with a harder shove.

"Jack wouldn't give you this lecture, Astrid. You know it. It's going to take someone else to beat sense into that head of yours because you still think that the world revolves around you. You nearly killed a man—_intentionally_. It wasn't like we were fighting in a battle and you had to fight the enemy. You targeted one of your own shipmates and he paid with his blood for your stupidity."

He would have said more, knowing him. He wasn't done yet, but he could say nothing further because the cabin doors parted, and Tom stood at the entrance, shifting his glance from me to Roland and to me again.

"Could you keep it down, please? We're trying to discuss treasure here," he said. Roland glared at him indignantly, appalled that he was being discouraged from hammering me with degradation. However, Tom quickly figured out what was going on and suggested that Roland join them in their talk. I would have protested, but since it got Roland away, I didn't. I could still eavesdrop without him.

"An' if I catch ye spyin' on us again, bonnie," added Tom, "Yer brother an' Jack ain't gonna be the only ones givin' you lectures." He ended his threat with a wink that made me blush and then shut the door, and I was left behind, as usual, to amuse myself with my silly wishes.

My decision to honor Tom's request and end my snooping session was more on the part of my girlish speculations about receiving some sort of romantic compensation from him in return rather than on the part of me actually respecting the man. And I figured, to go along with my streak of good behavior, to pass the time waiting for my long postponed father-daughter chat by tending to the slumbering Spaniard I almost left to die.

I expected to pretend to care for him, dabbing a wet cloth to his feverish brow every now and then and never taking my eyes off his poor, ailing form. However, when I went below decks to complete such an act, I found the Don to be awake and engaged in a lively conversation with Cordelia.

"Astrid!" she hailed, waving both her arms in the air as I neared them. "_¿Cómo estás?_" I didn't answer and she peered at me curiously, her eyebrow raised. "What happened? Ye came down here smilin' an' now you're… not."

"Oh," I replied absently. "I… I hadn't noticed. I see…" I had difficulty swallowing. "… Hernán is feeling better."

"Not quite so," he corrected, his words vaguely slurred. "I still feel a bit… how do you call it? In altitudes?"

"Drunk?" I postulated, certain that that was the word he was aiming for.

"No, no," he shook his head. "I feel fine… my head is just moving… whirling? No, spinning. Yes, my head is spinning." He looked up at me, the light coming from the hung lanterns illuminating slices of his brown eyes, which, might I add, were watery and coated in a thin, light film of red. Perhaps I _did_ give him too much laudanum. I smirked at the thought.

Ignoring his drunken babble, I leaned over his hammock, peering at his bandaged leg and noting the splotches of crimson spreading on the white linen I used to wrap his wounds in. "How's the leg fairing?" I asked nonchalantly, trying very hard not to care, but in truth, I did. An amputation was the last thing I needed, and I dreaded the very likely possibility for two reasons. Firstly, Cavanaugh never taught me how to chop off decaying limbs. And secondly, I did not have the stomach to saw a man's leg off. It was bad enough having to see Dobbin hobbling about with a crutch and a peg leg. I did not want that image to resurface.

Hernán only gave an agonized moan and grimaced. "Laudanum would—" I didn't let him finish.

"I think I've given you enough," I interrupted, trying to think of something I could do to help him, and finding myself incapable of such a task.

"Hernán was teaching me a song in Spanish, Astrid. Do you want to learn it?" proposed Cordelia, ever the cheery harbinger of sunshine.

"No," I said flatly, and she interpreted my answer as a sign that I was angry, which I was (though not at her). I could do nothing to help the poor young Spaniard except give him more of what he wanted: opium tincture. "Get me water… and rum, Delia," I ordered. Although she did not appreciate being given the order so snappishly from me, she obeyed, and I redid Hernán's bandages before debating whether or not to knock him out with the potent liquid drug again.

"Just give it to me," he insisted, still inebriated from the last large dose of physic I gave him.

I refused.

He issued his demands more harshly, and I returned his stubbornness with my own. He was not in the proper bearings to be deciding what was good for himself.

"No, I'll give it to you when the last dose wears off," I commanded, nearly yelling at him. Sighing, he turned away from me, and I sensed, by the streams of air that jetted out of his nose, that he truly wished that he could turn and walk away from me, but he lay, basically imprisoned in his hammock, unable to display the disagreement he felt. "You can handle it."

He glanced up at me and quicker than I could ever anticipate, seized my wrist and hauled me forward, causing me to let out a yelp.

"_Damn you! Do you know how much pain I'm in!_" he screamed into my face.

I stared at him stupidly, horrified at the ferocity of the suffering clearly visible in his eyes. Whether his burst of emotional frustration was due to the alcohol in his veins or to the unbearable throbbing in his leg didn't matter. I popped the cork from the laudanum bottle and offered it to him, my fingers trembling.

But before he could reach it, a hand from behind plucked the bottle out of my grasp and stole the stopper from my other hand.

"No," said Guerra firmly, stepping up from behind me and placing the piece of cork back into the bottle spout. "You need to see him suffer and _you…_" He turned to Hernán. "You live through this and there will be no questioning of your manhood." Guerra's younger Spanish comrade only growled, the humor of the joke obviously not an effective cure for his pain.

In that time, however, I realized that if Guerra was present, then Jack's meeting was over and… The day could not have gotten any worse.

I turned around, embarrassed enough for water to begin leaking out of my eyes.

"Please tell me you did not see any of that," I croaked, blinking rapidly as I returned Jack's stare. He said nothing and after a moment of excruciating silence, turned and walked away.

"Jack!" I whimpered, the first pathetic sob crawling up my throat.

"Hey now, bonnie." I felt two comforting hands land on my shoulders and shake me up a bit, gently. "Chin up, love." As soon as I felt the back of my head bump against Tom's chest, I relaxed and let myself fall back onto him, in which I was held securely in his arms, his chin resting atop my head as he spoke calmly and soothingly to me. "We know you're a good girl," he comforted. "Jack doesn't think badly of ye at all, bonnie. None of us do. Why, yer the one what got us one of our ships, ain't ya? C'mon, now. Enough pipin' yer eyes out."

"But I'm sorry for what I did," I quivered, the hiccups fighting to blast out of my mouth. "I really am. None of you seem to believe me."

Tom didn't say anything immediately after and his embrace loosened.

"You don't believe me either, do you?" I realized, pushing him away from me, but he refused to let me go.

"Let's have a talk, bonnie," he said quietly, leading me to a distant corner in Sick Bay. When I had gotten the sobbing out of my system and was left sniffling, he asked, in the same hushed tone, "Have you apologized to him?"

"To who? The Spaniard?" I returned, forgetting that our conversation was to be private and speaking too loudly.

"Yes, to Hernán. Use his bloody name, Astrid. You don't see me walkin' around callin' you Englishwoman, do you? Now tell me; have you apologized to the man?"

"No," I said bluntly, and as soon as I said the word, Tom ordered me to do so directly after he was done speaking to me.

"But he's still in altitudes," I parried, trying to avoid the apology at all costs. "It wouldn't make sense to say sorry to a drunk man."

"Then as soon as he's sober, you do it. I'm not playing a game here, Astrid. I am ordering you to do this," said Tom gravely, the line of his mouth straight and grim. I nodded halfheartedly and he became more assertive in reply to my disinterest. "I'm not joking, bonnie. You don't know what kind of tension you've built up on this ship because of your little mistake. Every man knows you nearly killed Hernán out of jealousy, and so now you've got them thinkin' that if it wasn't Hernán, who's it gonna be? Who's goin' to be the next man dead at the hands of the heartless wench? Hmm? Ye broke whatever trust Jack wanted in his crew, Astrid. You've torn this ship apart."

He said nothing more, hoping that in that pause I would come to realize the stupidity and selfishness of my actions, but none of it settled in yet. My face remained void of understanding and I looked down at my teetering feet.

Tom huffed resentfully.

"If you weren't Jack's daughter and if I didn't care about you, bonnie, you would be marooned or dead by now for what you've done. And if that doesn't tell you how serious your transgression is, I don't know what the hell will." He sighed and looked at me, a softer look in his eyes. "I like you, Astrid." He reached out to me, the tips of his fingers sliding down the side of my face. I shivered under his touch. "But if it comes to it one day, bonnie… if it comes to it…" His fingers took hold of my face in a tighter grip, and I winced at his break in leniency. "I _will_ hurt you, Astrid. I will." And then his touch became cold and he left me, terrified and heartbroken, in his wake.

The stupid thing to do would have been to follow him, but it was evident that everyone on the ship had grown tired of my foolhardiness, and I wisely opted to spend the rest of the night alone. I had just come up from underhatches when I was suddenly confronted by Jack, and my eyes started to water again. _Here comes the 'talk', Astrid. Brace yourself…_

"Ye look a bit glum," he observed lightly, neither overly concerned or impartial to the fact. "Did the Irishman have a word with you?"

"Yes," I mumbled miserably. "Made me feel a hell of a lot like dirt, he did."

"I was hoping he'd do that," confessed my father, smirking afterwards and toddling aft but still keeping close to the railing.

"What do you mean you hoped he would do that?" I gawked, pursuing him with confused irritation. "Do you mean to tell me that you _planned_ all of this?"

"Judging by how pleased I am with your current mood, then aye, it's certainly a possibility." He pivoted on his heel, catching me off guard, and the only thing that kept me from bumping into him was his foot, which I stepped on.

"But why would you plan something like that?" I asked in the time he used to grimace at the pain throbbing within the boundaries of his right boot. "Sorry," I murmured sheepishly, my eyes directed at his foot.

"Quite all right, love," he managed to say through his teeth. "At least ye didn't throw me overboard to be shark bait."

At the mentioning of 'shark', I flung my arms in the air and shouted:

"Why does it always have to come back to that? Why!"

Jack's reply was too lithely issued.

"Because if he dies, everyone's going to be looking at a certain very esteemed, universally famous and devilishly handsome pirate captain's daughter and saying that his offspring is a bloody, bilge-sucking, murderous temptress what deserves to be poxed and shot in the head, savvy?"

If what he said was meant to both stupefy and paralyze its victims with fear, then I was most definitely a victim. After being placed into such a state of mind, all I could honestly do was stare at him unblinkingly whilst tremulously gulping to rid the stunned sensation of terror housed in my throat. He observed my reaction for a good minute or so, either amused or… well… amused, before saying:

"Love, I think you'd make _me_ less uncomfortable if you stopped staring at me like a dead fish."

_Dead fish. More references to the shark instance._ _He just doesn't know when to stop, does he?_

"Are you implying that I'm basically a dead man walking, Jack?" I put forth, returned to my senses at the irritation of more shark puns.

His face became awash with surprise.

"Did I say that? And clearly, Astrid, you're not a man. If you were, I'd be worried about the own orientation of Tom based on how much attention he gives you. A bloody pouffe, he'd be." He made a face at that mental image.

"You know that's not why I asked. I need you to be serious and straightforward with me, Jack. If Hernán dies, would it cause enough mayhem on this ship so as to instigate a mutiny? Or possibly my death?"

"I believe I answered that when I said the devilishly handsome pirate captain's offspring would be considered to be a bloody, bilge-sucking, murderous—"

"All right, I get it now," I interrupted, aggravated with his repetition, which, not surprisingly, was prompted by my own repeated inquisitions. "What can I do then?... To stop something like that from happening, I mean."

He finally smiled and the relief that swept through me was absolutely grand.

"I'm glad you asked, love." He took a step back, his arms slightly extended at his sides and took out a little container of rum from an inside coat pocket. "Watch carefully." With his eyes set on me, he inched forward, placed the liquor bottle in my hand and said (slowly), with his hands out before him, palms parallel to the deck, "Open it and _drink_."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously on him and clenched my jaw.

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to do, Jack!" I shrilled, chucking the rum bottle overboard. He expelled a childish, "Ahh!" as he bobbled over to the railing, his hands now curled and guarding the look of pure queasiness on his distraught face as he peered over the edge of the ship, his eyes trained on the floating bottle.

"Clearly she's been too influenced by Elizabeth," he muttered to himself, turning to confront me again. "Thankfully, I always have a spare." He retrieved another from some pocket hidden in his coat and presented it to me.

"What do you want me to do? Get drunk?" I shrieked, slapping away his offering.

"That's the simplest way I can put it. If said it in any other, more complex manner, I'm afraid you'd be asking more questions than you are now," he replied, bringing the rum close to me again.

"How will that help at all?"

"I'm taking a risk here, Astrid; that's what I do, after all, and since you're unwilling to be hospitable and welcoming while sober, I'm hypothesizing that the opposite would occur in your drunken state," he reasoned happily. "Makes perfect sense, doesn't it?"

The only response he got from me was my incredulous glower.

"You mean to tell me that I have a listening problem, Jack? That I'm not friendly or nice or helpful? Is that it?"

"I didn't say that," he corrected.

"But that's what you're _trying_ to say, isn't it? Well, what if I don't always want to listen? What if not listening is what got me here in the first place, hmm? Ever thought of that?"

Before my voice got any higher and angrier, Jack pulled me aside and said, as nicely as he could, "I'm not talkin' about _your_ progress here, love. This isn't just about you, savvy? An' comin' from a selfish man—I know I'm selfish—"

"—Got that right—" I interrupted bitterly.

"—Well, then you should have no problem understanding this then, aye? You need to listen to your shipmates, Astrid. You need to show that you care—just a little bit, that's all I'm asking—about them. Now, I know you don't love Hernán and I highly doubt that you will, ever, but pretend for the next fortnight or so that you do, savvy?"

"But I can't do that," I told him. "I won't." He looked at me suspiciously, not expecting the reply that I gave him. "I won't act like someone I'm not. I won't pretend to care when I really don't, Jack. That's lying."

"Aye, it is. But it's no different from dressin' up like a man, acting like a man, and telling everyone around you that you _are_ a man when you are, in fact, a woman. Looks like you are very capable of lying, love."

"You're one to talk," I spat back. "You made me believe a lie ten years ago, making me believe that I actually had a family when in truth, all I really had were a drunken pirate for a father and a dead whore from Tortuga for a mum! Did you have any idea of how such news destroyed the dreams I already had in mind? I was promised to a lieutenant in His Majesty's Royal Navy, Jack!"

"That's the way it should have stayed then," he returned calmly, almost regrettably. "I've told ye this before, Astrid. I didn't _want_ you to find me."

"And why not? Were you ashamed of me? Did you just not like me?" I forced myself to put a halt to my questions, sucking up the snot starting to drip out of my nose and blinking the hot water away from my eyes. "Or did you just not love me?" I asked at last. "You obviously didn't care about me the same way you care about Cordelia because you decided to keep her. You didn't send her away. You didn't—"

"It was your mother's dying wish, Astrid," he said, his eyes seemingly lamenting the day he received my mother's request. "She wanted you to be a lady. She made me promise her that I'd never bring you to Tortuga, that you'd never be stuck in the same sad profession she had. That was what she wanted for you, Astrid."

"Well, I hope she knows that you broke your promise to her as well because I _did_ end up in Tortuga, and I _did_ get stuck with her awful job. And the only reason I was forced into such a situation was because _you_weren't there. You were never _bloody_ there."

"Why do you think I took you to Port Royal to live with Will and Elizabeth, Astrid?" he asked heatedly, getting aggravated himself. "To keep you as far away from that life as possible."

I looked at him, the same frown still on my face, but I saw that he was, for once, being sincere. There was a sadness hidden behind his dark eyes, a sadness usually shielded with his quirky nature and silly gimmicks and only now revealed to me when the topic of my mother had come up. Perhaps there was something significant in my mother's past that affected him, but I couldn't really think of anything profound enough to instill such a feeling in the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow. And it only occurred to me after my failure to find anything that perhaps the thing that made him even remember my mother was, possibly, _me_.

Maybe I was more important to Jack than I thought.

"She made an impossible wish, then," I yielded, looking down and shaking my head and ending the argument. "I'll go tend to the Span—_Hernán_, I mean. I'm… I'm sorry, Jack… for nearly killing one of your men and ruining the trust on your ship. You're a selfish man; you should understand. You have a selfish daughter and all she really wanted to do was… impress you with her not-so-piratical abilities. That's all."

I was forgiven with a thin smile from him.

"She liked to make silly wishes, your mother," he said, more on a whim than to continue our dying conversation.

"Then I guess I'm more like her and less like you than I thought."

"Don't be too sure about that, love. You're a Sparrow. Jack-ish traits are inescapable."

I tossed and turned in my hammock, agitated and bothered by our nearing destination. It had been about two and a half months since we got out of the Doldrums, and our first target was to get some information about the treasure map hidden in Jack Rackham's sunken mound of treasure. It turned out that the map was not made by Calico Jack but was instead made by a more recent pirate. The map was a decade old at most because of the date Jack and his team discovered printed on the map somewhere. However, since the map held no specific location for the diamond we were looking for, Captain Sparrow decided that we'd need to do our research on the subject we were trying to "learn."

We landed in Arabia about a month ago, seeking information about any caravans or important travelers venturing into India. We trekked across the desert terrain, sand crawling into our boots and sunburn growing on our faces as we went from village to village, asking the same questions over and over again. Apparently there were few Arabs traveling to India because of religious reasons, and Jack found it necessary to ask the highwayman who ambushed us if there were any negotiations for religious acceptance or tolerance in India.

"There are few," was our answer, followed by a very snide, "Why?"

"Oh, nothing," smiled Jack despite the knife being held at his throat. I myself was successfully restrained by another bandit, sand blowing into my face as I twitched and spit repeatedly to get the grains out of my eyes and mouth. The _niqab_ I bought at the last town was not doing any justice and failed to protect my face and head effectively. "I jus' happen to know that some prince in India owns a very special diamond that, if found, will lead to more riches, savvy?"

'Diamond' was all that really needed to be said for the highwaymen to let us go, of course, on the condition that they come along. Seeing as it was either getting our throats slit or letting them come along, Jack opted for the thieves to join us (momentarily) on our journey, which did not rest well with our Spanish comrades.

"They invaded our country and killed our people!" argued Guerra, marching up to Jack in his usual stomping manner. "You are going to let those damn Moors—" He didn't get any farther than that.

A knife was instantly thrown at him, and it missed by a thread, cutting Guerra across the cheek; and such an act of violence was readily answered with the 'click' of the pistol held in Hernán's hands.

"Try that again. I won't miss," he goaded, his stare leveled on the _keffiyah_-wearing felon. It was a good thing the Arab let his guard down because I happened to know that Hernán was a very good shot. But, despite the protests of our Dagos, our Arab band of thieves followed us to our anchored ship in the Persian Gulf coast. Luckily, none of them were experienced seamen, and they joined us on our ship as complete and utter landlubbers, paying for their previous hostilities with days and days of seasickness when we left the sands of Araby for India.

Hernán, obviously, did not suffer the most detrimental of consequences caused by his shark wound. His recovery was rather miraculous, in my opinion, and the entire crew only considered him to be our luckiest shipmate based on how many times he was blessed with good fortune.

Since he was really the only ill person on board the _Pearl_, I was obliged to give him my undivided attention, and I catered to his every need, despite how much I abhorred being his maid for a good six weeks. His wounds never got infected and the fever he developed gradually subsided over time. When his leg had stopped bleeding so profusely, I decided it was time to let him start walking again, and such a task ended up being hated by the both of us. It was bad enough having to support a man who was a full head and neck taller than me, but it was even worse when he was also as stubborn as an ass.

"Look at your bloody foot, man!" I'd scream, often, during such therapeutic sessions. "Your leg is bloody bleeding and you have to sit your arse down to rest. _Now!_"

"It's not that bad," he'd growl. "I can handle it. Ten more steps. I'm not going to lose this leg, damn you!"

And the only person who'd succeed in calming both of us down would be Cord, who'd promenade towards us and ease our tempers with her perky, optimistic character. She'd manage to get Hernán to rest in order to teach her more Spanish, which gave me time to seek out Roland, Jack, or Sefu to talk to. Tom was captaining the French ship we captured, and so I would have to admire the dashing Irishman from afar.

However, I did admit to myself that the Spaniard's persistence in ridding himself of an eternal limp amounted to something in the end. By the time we landed in Arabia, he and his leg were well enough to walk and even run (in case of emergency) during our short visit. He was, of course, not fully healed even though he liked to think that he was. Whenever we had to walk a long distance in a day, he'd complain of pain and cramps in his leg when we finally settled down at night to rest. And I'd chastise him with a brutal, "I told you so."

Although my public display of interaction with Hernán was teeming with extreme, snappish dislike, I did remain committed to his medical treatment; and that, thank God, kept the rest of the crew from suspecting me as a heartless wench who would slit their throats and toss them overboard in their sleeps should they anger me. Roland even commended me on how fast Hernán recovered.

"It's rather uncanny, don't you think?" he asked me in an Arabian village one day. Our landing party, which consisted of Jack, Tom, Gibbs, Sefu, some Spaniards, Frenchies, and Americans, had come to the settlement to get food and water, with the side-task of investigating for our diamond mission. "That he'd get better so quickly," Roland clarified, picking up a piece of dried fruit from a vendor's basket and inspecting it. I noticed small beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his face, despite the head-covering he wore.

"He's a lucky bugger. God loves him, I suppose," I replied, asking the vendor how much the dried pieces of fruit cost through my veil.

"Aye, that's always possible," concurred Roland, adjusting the circle of rope securing his headdress. "But maybe it's more. You haven't been doing him any favors, Astrid, have you?"

I glared at him as the vendor handed me a sack of our newly purchased foodstuffs, and I did not hesitate to swing that same sack at my brother's grinning face.

"You're disgusting," I remarked.

"What? Those are the questions that come up when a woman spends a lot of time with a man," he piteously defended.

I halted my steps and jerked my head to the side, all the more insulted.

"Are you saying someone in our crew has been saying that stuff about me? Or are you the one spreading such malicious gossip, eh, brother?"

"No, I'm not saying that," he said hurriedly, laughing afterwards at how my veil rippled whenever I spoke. "We're men, Astrid. We like to joke around. It's nothing personal. We're not like women who spread lies and actually believe them. We know you like Tom."

His words were not comforting.

"And how do you bloody know that I like Tom?" I squawked.

"Aha! So you _do_!" he cried out. I had nothing to say to that. He tricked me into making the confession. Damn him.

"Boy, do you move on quickly, sister," he snickered before ridiculing me further. "Adieu, Stephen! Adieu, Adam! Adieu, Bennie!" He laughed as he pretended to wave goodbye to my past love interests. "Good Lord, sister. I'm not being funny, but you've certainly been around, haven't you?"

_Well, dear brother, you can take that smack, and this one, too, ye scumbag, and how about another? Smack. Aye, that'll get ye to shut yer gob. Bloody hell._

By the time we actually got to the shores of India, our Spanish comrades and our Moors were about ready to really, _really_ kill each other. Neither party walked around the ship or even _slept_ on the ship without being fully armed, which only made me want to see what a crossfire between the two would actually look like.

"So what exactly is your plan for getting us into the Raja's palace, Jack?" I asked him as we prepared for docking at the port of Chennai.

"Don't worry, love, it doesn't involve you," was his answer, and I would have pressed him for clarification if Roland hadn't sprinted up to the helm, his eyes wide with fear.

"Astrid, come look," he said, panting. He handed me a spyglass and told me to look one point forward on the larboard beam.

"I don't see anything, Roland. Just the sterns of some ships in the harbor, just…" My voice died and any words that would have come out turned to dust in my throat. The _Paramount_ was docked, and I knew very well who sailed on the _Paramount_ and I was not about to run into him once we landed on Indian ground.

"We can't dock here, Jack," I said, panicking, my hands shaking as I returned the spyglass to Roland. "The British Navy is docked here. We can't… we'll get caught… we'll… oh, God… I'll… Adam… Dear Lord… what am I going to do?"

"All right, then," said Jack, not intimidated by my unfinished apprehensions. "We'll just row to port in some dinghies." And with that, he changed course to drop anchor at a safer location, but my breathing hadn't become regular just yet. Somewhere in that town wandered a Lieutenant Adam Locke, and I knew that if I ever ran into him, there would be hell to pay.

As soon as I found out that Adam was in that port city, I could not get a good night's sleep. The possibility of coming across his path and confronting him was too burdensome, and I'd whine and worry the first few nights we were in India. I refused to step foot on land and join our landing party to investigate the search for our wanted diamond, electing to stay safe on our anchored ship. My absence in their group would not make a difference anyway.

Roland, however, dared to tell me about the news he'd heard while snooping around the port city, dangerously close to our now ex-comrades, for we both knew that 'pirate' was now our official occupation and we had to be extremely careful around navy personnel.

"You really ought to come with us next time," he recommended, taking off his _keffiyah_ and running his hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "My God, sister! You won't believe where and what some of our friends have done! I overheard Murray just today, and—"

"Murray?" I burst, my eyes bulging. "_Kenneth_ Murray? You _saw_ him?"

"Aye, but I kept my face covered," he shrugged. "These Arab garments come in pretty handy, I'd say. I was with my good mates Hernán and Sefu and we pretended to be having our own conversation while overhearing Murray and a fellow officer chat amongst themselves. And guess what we found?"

"The diamond?" I honestly hoped he had. That way, we wouldn't have to stay one more day in India and I could rest easier.

"No. I know I'm good, Astrid, but even I don't have that much luck." I humphed at his growing ego. "The maharaja of Tanjore is in port, staying at the home of a British Lord who is visiting on behalf of Parliament."

"And supposedly they are going to have some high-toned and fancy to-do up at up at the Lord's estate," continued Jack, scaring me from behind. I had no idea he was listening in on our conversation. "_We_ upstanding gentlemen… and gentle_women_… need to merit an invitation."

"And how are we going to do that?" I asked.

"Word has it that some important British naval officers are invited," added Gibbs, prompted by Jack to cough up the rest of the information they had discovered with a nudge from his elbow. "One in particular who's a bit of a rogue."

"What are you suggesting then?" My tone was not encouraging. The first name to come to mind at the mentioning of "rogue" was Griffith's, and I was in no mood to see him again after what he did to me.

"Someone should go speak to them," Tom advised, also scaring me from behind as he slipped his arm around my waist. "Someone who'll be _attractively_ convincing."

"Someone who _knows_ how the navy thinks," contributed Gibbs.

"And someone who can do both while appearing entirely… innocent," Jack concluded, taking an envelope out of his sleeve and presenting it in front of my face.

The wrinkles of my already formed frown only deepened.

"You must be bloody daft if ye think I'm going to use my face to get you what you want!"

"You did it to get us the ship I captain, bonnie," countered Tom, keeping me from storming off by tightening his grip around my hips. "That's all we're asking of you. Give them that letter, see what they have to say, and then if it's not agreeable, convince them that it is."

"The maharaja is highly influenced by his British visitors," said Roland. "He's apt to accept whatever they do."

"But I can't step on land! What if Adam sees me? He'll know something is up and then he'll—"

"Sister, that's why I bought you that veil-thing and Arab dress. It covers you from head to toe, save for your eyes. You're safe." I could only glare at him unbelievingly. "Tell you what, I'll go with you into town. Hernán and I. We'll follow you, make sure you get the job done, and then if you run into a bit of a scrape, we'll get you out, savvy?"

"The whelp has it well thought out, Astrid," agreed Jack. "You do it first thing in the morning."

I grumbled at all of them.

"Fine. I'll do it," I seethed, snatching the letter from Jack's hands. "Just one question."

"Aye?" posed Jack.

"What's in the letter?"

"This is never going to work," I griped, pinning the veil in place over my nose and mouth. "What kind of native do you see around port with blue eyes?"

"If anything, that unlikelihood will only make you all the more exotically appealing to that cocky officer," voiced Roland, tired of my complaints.

We descended from the _Pearl_ down into a rowboat, in which we would row to shore and then walk for the rest of the journey. We had anchored the ships a good couple of miles away from the harbor, and so there would be quite a lengthy bit of walking before we could even start looking for the British lord's abode. While on the way to shore, Roland peered at me quizzically before laughing as he moved the oars back and forth with the Spaniard.

"And what is so funny?" I demanded, narrowing my eyes on him and Hernán.

"Your leg," he simpered. "It's showing."

I looked down at myself and noticed that yes, my dress was somewhat rumpled towards the hem and that yes, part of my bare leg was showing.

"And? It's not like you've never seen a leg before," I grumped, covering the limb anyway.

"No, but it makes me, and I am sure, Hernán, question whether or not you are wearing any pants under that dress."

"It's a dress! I'm not supposed to!" I defended, blushing beneath my veil. The Spaniard chuckled. "Ooh, don't you look at me that way!" I screamed, slapping him on the head. "And _you_!" I shouted, turning to Roland. "You need to bloody find yourself a girl. You've been at sea for too long looking at men's arses and you're taking all of that _energy_ out on me. Like what you did in Arabia! Asking me if I was doing my shipmates damn bloody_favors_. You nasty pig."

By then, both Roland and his Spanish comrade were laughing and guffawing like no tomorrow, and I could do nothing to end their laughter. I was stuck in their unfavorable company and I had no option but to tolerate their boyish antics with a bitter _hmph_.

Their taunts, however, did remind me of how eager navy men could be for pleasurable company and I considered the thought as we searched for the British Lord's home. If this officer was as much of a hound as I thought him to be, then convincing him to convince the raja would be a very easy task, or at least, I hoped it would. Sometimes charm was needed to accompany the pretty face. Only, I was severely bereft of charm, and wit for that matter.

"That's it," observed Roland, pointing up at the large building at the end of the road. We had asked a good many people along the way where Lord Pemberton was housed, and Roland, along the way, just _had_ to explain to Hernán and me the details of British residency in India. "I wonder if the Governor-General is with him, though I don't know why he'd leave Calcutta. Whoever this Lord Pemberton is, he must be here on Pitt's account."

I rolled my eyes at his political knowledge. What did I care of the British Governor-General, or the members of Parliament?

"Just knock on the bloody door," I grouched.

After speaking to the servant who answered the door, we were allowed to enter the home and meet with the raja's advisor, who, to my surprise, was a Christian missionary.

"Our sultan sends his greetings," said Roland, gesturing for me to deliver the letter hidden in my sleeve. The priest looked at it suspiciously.

"And why does he send you? It's not very often we hear from our neighbors to the west. Last time we dealt with sultans, we waged battle, discovering that they were preparing an alliance with the French."

_That_ was something Roland failed to mention in his little history of Britain and India.

"The letter explains everything, sir," replied Roland, unfazed. "Shall we give you time to discuss it with the maharaja?"

The priest had already read the first few lines of the letter and glanced briefly at us, my breath becoming shallow beneath my veil. It was too bloody humid to breathe comfortably with a cloth over one's mouth and I had a bad feeling we were soon to be revealed for the frauds we were.

"A servant will provide you with refreshments. I will return shortly," was all the missionary said before dismissing us, and we were led through a series of open corridors and white halls ornamented with Hindu deities, contrary to the Christian influences taking place inside the palace.

Our destination lay in the courtyard of the elegant mansion, where uniformed men moseyed about on the white, tiled floors, drinking tea or liquor out of their fine white china and crystal glasses. A quaint little water fountain stood serenely in the background, partly hidden by the meticulous arrangement of colorful tropical plants sitting stoutly in their pots, the sunshine falling down in thick slices as it cut across the open air of the courtyard. I scanned the faces of the men with a couple of flicks of my eyelids. Thankfully, most of them were too old to be Adam, and I noticed one looked mighty dashing in an admiral's garb.

"Ah, look what we have here, gentlemen," said the admiral, lifting his liquor glass towards my two companions and me. "Arabs. And a woman among them. All wearing masks over their faces. If that's not suspicious, then I don't know what is!"

He meandered towards us, his heeled boots clicking against the polished, gleaming tiles and his narrow glare concentrated on our kohl-rimmed eyes. He was middle-aged, with strands of gray streaking his dark, nearly black hair. Yet, his face had a honed attractiveness to it—a quality of aged perfection on his swarthy skin. Were he ten years younger, I probably would have been giggling behind my veil. I questioned whether or not he was the rogue Gibbs had mentioned.

"Odd," he commented. "Never saw an Arab woman with blue eyes before. Are you certain you belong in such clothes? I'd be happy to remove them for you." His eyes twinkled with delight as I looked down.

_Aye. He's the rogue, all right._

I said nothing and I could feel both Roland and Hernán bristle and tense at the crude joke.

"She's taken a vow of silence, _sir_," my brother voiced brutally, the 'sir' being uttered as more of a growl than a word. "In lieu of certain hardships her sultan has had to face these past few months."

Admiral _Dick_ scoffed at the defense, bending over and searching with his eyes for my hand within the long, flowing curtains of my dress. He chose on a spot and reached, touching my wrist and pulling me forward, kissing my fingers delicately before letting them go.

"Well, if she's silent, I guess she won't scream when I get to know her better tonight, will she?"

I wondered if he and Griffith were related somehow. Roland and Hernán took one dangerous step forward, both of them nearly abreast the undaunted naval officer and both ready to defend me, which I found highly amusing. Perhaps they were taking this little act of ours too seriously. Or maybe they were overreacting to ensure that our act would be sold.

Intervening on their pre-dueling procedures, I gently touched both of my escorts on the shoulder, confronting the admiral only when I felt them relax; and, smiling beneath my _niqab_, I bowed before the admiral, hands together in a prayer-like fashion. He took that as a sign of my willingness, and he offered his arm to me, which I hesitantly accepted. I risked a glimpse over at Roland and Hernán and saw my brother give that small, subtle nod of approval in my direction as Admiral Giddy-In-His-Tight-White-Britches directed me over under a patch of sunshine to have some tea.

"Two lumps of sugar or three?" he asked me, dumping two spoonfuls in my cup anyway. He knew I couldn't answer because of my supposed vow of silence, and he purposefully forgot to ask me if I would like cream in my tea. "It's quite hot," he warned, prepared to hold my tea cup for me. And as he brought it towards my face, I realized that in order to drink the damn liquid, I would have to remove my veil. _You stupid, stupid girl!_

I shook my head quickly as the steaming liquid neared my face.

"Ah, here. I'll take care of that for you," he said, reaching to yank my veil off.

"Admiral Mardling!"

The call shocked both of us and the man dropped the tea cup and spilled its boiling contents over my astounded face.

_Oh, God, Astrid. Don't scream. Don't scream. Do. Not. Scream!_

My hands flew to my burning skin and Roland and Hernán, having realized what happened, rushed to my aid. At least the admiral hadn't ripped off my _niqab_.

"What is it, dammit!" bellowed Mardling, glaring at the broken china of the tea cup he had dropped. A younger officer came forward, seemingly out of breath, tucking his hat beneath his arm after he had made his bow and salute. When he rose, I gripped Roland's shoulders and moved him so that he blocked me.

"What?" he whispered, looking over his shoulder. He hastily looked away as soon as he saw who it was. "Right. Just stay… quiet."

I tried not to whimper as my heart leapt up into my throat, all while my face still stung unremittingly. Things were most certainly not going as planned.

After the admiral calmed down, he turned to his inferior, frowning. The longest pause I had ever known followed and the thumping of my heart beat uproariously in my ears. _Oh, God… Oh, God…_

"Don't you _ever_ barge into my business in such a jarring manner, Lieutenant Locke."

With a huff, I swatted Tom's hand from my face, cursing at no particular person under my breath. We had returned to the ship successful, but our success was bought with a price I had no intention of paying. My face suffered minor burns from the tea spilt by the raunchy admiral, and my mind could not get off the fact that I had seen Adam Locke in town. However, the maharaja agreed to arrange a meeting between the Arab princess and his son, and he had already sent a messenger to bring his son down from their palace in Tanjore. The soonest the boy would arrive would be in three days and he would bring with him an engagement gift: the yellow diamond we had been thirsting for.

"Well, look on the bright side, Astrid, you still have the veil to wear." Tom applied some liniment on my burns.

"I don't care. I'm not stepping foot on land again until we've stolen the diamond." I slapped his hand away from my face again. "And you've put on enough. I look like I have a white, fluffy beard with this cream smeared on my skin." He laughed, happily agreeing to my observation.

I emerged from the hatchway and stepped foot on the top deck, creamy white beard and all, as I sought out Roland. If there was anyone who would understand how I felt, it would be him.

When brother dear had gotten over his giggles concerning the alterations on my face, we discussed, for a good hour, what to do about the Adam situation. We went over several of the things we had learned about him from our short stay at Lord Pemberton's mansion, such as how he had been in India for about half a year and that he and his father currently shared a residence with the Murray family, who had left Port Royal for the wonders of the far east, and how he had come to like coffee and not tea, and how he had started a budding relationship with Kenneth Murray's sister, Meredith.

"How could he bloody do that to me!" I exclaimed, pulling at my hair. "See? I knew there was some connection between the two of them. I knew it the day of my fifteenth birthday! I _knew_ it!"

"Sister, may I remind you that you haven't been the perfect image of fidelity either?" remarked Roland as he rubbed his eye. "Let's go through the list again, shall we? Adam, Stephen, Griffith, Ben—"

"Fine. So I can't blame him for that," I scowled, scratching at my burns. "I don't know what to do, Roland," I moped, my anger turning into worry. "I want to talk to him, to just be with him again, but he might be angry, and I don't want to make things worse." I let out what sounded like a cross between a whine and a cry, only earning Roland's snickers in return.

"My God, Astrid. For a girl who moves on so easily, I'd think you wouldn't have a problem with confronting him."

I punched his arm.

"Or maybe find Kenneth and talk to him about your feelings about Adam?" he revised timidly, rubbing his shoulder. "But this you must do, sister," he added, becoming serious. "Focus on our mission. Then, deal with your romantic problems. Good Lord, I don't think I've heard so much unnecessary drama since the Alexandra era." He moaned and left me afterwards to contemplate whatever decision I'd make, and when I had chosen one, I checked on my Spaniard and his leg, finding that he was suffering from mild cramps and the occasional bruising under the skin.

"Tell me, Hernán," I began as I prodded the random blood spots on his healing limb, "What do you think I should do about Lieutenant Locke?"


	37. Dancing for a Prince: Part II

_Chapter 37: Dancing for a Prince_

_(PART TWO)_

**D**uring a time when I needed common sense and a functioning brain the most, I did not possess either. Instead of logic and the organ that housed it, I had stupidity and an empty cavern full of hot air in my skull. The reason why I was left wanting of those two critical necessities was because I had ventured out into town—alone, without Roland, who was the personified version of both my common sense and brain. And I found myself stuck not only in a very nasty dilemma, but I was also going to be late preparing for our grand deception that night. The maharaja's son had finally arrived, and our merited invitation to discuss the marriage between him and the Arab princess had to be fulfilled, certain measures having to be taken in order for the plan to fall through. My own part in the act was rather crucial, yet I risked ruining it all because I could not take my brother's advice and focus on our mission.

Adam had to come first.

I sat rigidly in my chair, my eyes twitching under the hot sunlight bathing the veranda of the Murrays' exquisite home. Kenneth and his darling sister sat across the table from me, his face red and his sister fanning herself delicately in the fuggy heat. The air was thick with the smell of jungle vegetation and rain. All I had on me was the English dress I had secretly bought, with short puffy sleeves and a relative looseness and lightness to it that I was amazed to feel. Though I still had to wear a corset, I had no difficulty breathing. However, I would as soon as the most important guest of our little tea party arrived.

Kenneth leaned forward and, smiling at me in his wonderment, asked if I would like more tea.

"No, thank you, Kenny," I chimed, trying to remain relaxed.

I had run across Lieutenant Kenneth Murray at exactly the spot Roland had last described him in. He was on patrol along the docks, accompanied by two marines who were under his temporary command. Upon seeing me his jaw unhooked and became limp as he gawked openly at my sight, his grey eyes glittering with glee as he met me with a tight embrace. I remained in his arms far longer than I had anticipated, which got his marines to think certain things about the girl who was in his clutch. I gave Murray's firm shoulders a little squeeze as I, in my feigned elation, held his face in my hands. He certainly had grown into a fine man, and for a quick instant, I had to remind myself why I was looking for him in the first place.

The questions of "how are you?", "where in the blazes have you been?", and the like were all answered simply with my, "I only have a limited time, Murray." And at that, he swiftly suggested that I have tea with him and his sister.

"Adam always joins us for tea," he added, making my heart both rise and sink simultaneously. "He'll be delighted to see you. My God, _I_ am delighted to see you! I almost didn't recognize you. What happened to your face?"

And so I proceeded to tell him the little tales behind the scars that nicked my skin as we made way to his home, and he would relate his own stories at sea to me in return. When we reached his home, his sister greeted us with mixed expressions on her face. With her brother, she was welcoming; to me, she was unprepared. Her grey eyes were wide and unblinking as we exchanged curtsies, and she almost could not utter my name.

From then on it was just idle chat and biscuits and tea until Adam arrived.

"You said you were kidnapped by pirates, Miss Turner?" questioned Kenneth as he poured himself another cup.

I frowned visibly. I may have told Kenny about my sea voyages, but I hadn't touched on my adventures with Jack or Anne. He noticed my disgruntlement and smiled.

"Apologies. Your midshipman—well, actually he's a lieutenant now—from the _Resolve_ said that you were taken by pirates." Without thinking, I readily answered:

"Well, I did it to save our bloody ship…" I paused, my voice trailing as I came to realize a very important fact that I had overlooked in Kenneth's comment. He had said "_your midshipman."_

My heart stopped and I choked on my own spit, gripping the edge of the table with a sweaty palm as the words bounced against my ears. _Your midshipman from the _Resolve. _Bloody, bloody hell._

"You m-must mean M-Mr. B-Bennett?" I quaked, grabbing my napkin and twisting it with my fingers. _Oh, dear Lord._

"Yes," replied Kenneth, not heeding my apprehension. "He stayed with us a good few weeks after the Battle of the Nile."

"A very charming gentleman," enclosed Meredith, smirking thinly behind her tea cup. "The lad loved to talk about you."

"Really?" was all I could manage to say, still abusing the napkin in my hands to no end as I twitched and flinched within the boundaries of my sticky, perspiring skin.

Kenneth replied, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. My mind had drifted as I analyzed the situation. I had come to the Murray residence with every intent of confronting Adam, and now there was no doubt that I could _never_ perform the task. If Murray had met Bennett, then Adam had also, and there'd be no debate over his discovering that I _loved_ Bennett; and I knew what would result from my lieutenant gaining such insight. Adam had caught me being unfaithful _once_ and his reaction to that one instance was unbearable. I was not prepared to face it again.

Meredith suddenly perked up as she heard the front doors shut, and I was jolted out of my musings as well.

"Ah, he must be here. He's always a bit late. The admiral up at Lord Pemberton's always keeps him too long," she complained.

I stood up immediately and tossed my napkin on the table.

"Where are you going?" asked Kenneth, confused. "You can't leave now. He's only just arrived!" I looked at him, hating the sadness already present in his eyes. _Oh, dear God, please do not look at me that way._

"I… I'm not leaving, Kenny," I replied, trying to remain cheerful. "I just want to pay a visit to the head—I mean, privy—to spruce up a little. I must look a wreck, don't I?" I fiddled with my hair and pulled on my dress.

Kenneth reassured me that I looked fine, but I demanded directions and release to the privy, and the lad, after a few trials, gave in to my whines. I locked myself in the room, desperately trying to collect my waning breath as I leaned against the door frame. _Come on, Astrid. You must get out of here._

I managed to calm myself after a good half hour, and I smoothed out the skirt of my dress before unlocking the door, and as soon as I turned the knob, I heard _him, _out of _all_ people, say, "Astrid!" and I shut the door and locked it so quickly that I couldn't even see my hands complete the task. Adam had been leaning on the privy door the entire time! I had shut it in time for him to avoid seeing my face because _I_ didn't see his, and my heart had leapt up into my throat while Indian butterflies beat their pulsing wings sporadically in my gut.

I scanned my options for escape in the privy—there were none. There was no window to scramble out of or another door to go through. I was stuck in the bathroom for the rest of eternity.

_Unless…_

Deciding to risk my pride, I went over to the privy door and knocked on it.

"Are you still there?" I asked through the wooden barrier separating me from my lieutenant.

"Yes." There was a pause. "My God, it's really you! I feel like I haven't heard your voice in ages!"

As soon as he spoke, my heart pined for him, and I pressed my face into the door, imagining myself burrowing my face into his chest just as I had done so long ago. I shook my head.

"Could you please get Kenneth for me?"

Another pause.

"Why?"

"He has my reticule and I need its contents if I am to meet an effeminate need of mine right now." I could picture him blushing at my request.

"Very well. I shall inform him." He never issued a proper farewell, and so I assumed he was still there, and I was right. Moments later, he added: "Astrid, I _have_ to talk to you. Please, don't do anything stupid and try to elude me. I won't…" I stopped listening. I couldn't bear to hear him make such a plea especially because I had already made up my mind not to see him, and it tore me apart, it did. I stood against the door, trembling from the ache of not being able to hold him, my hand gripping the doorknob tightly and wanting to tear down the barrier between us so that I could finally have some peace.

Shortly after, I heard Murray tap on the door. "What is it, Astrid? What do you need?" And I opened the door and grabbed him by the collar, hauling him into the room before slamming the door back shut.

He stared at me bewildered, most likely wondering why the hell I had been so aggressive with him.

"You need to help me get out of here without seeing Adam," I begged, coming up to him and tugging on his naval jacket. "Please, Murray. I need you to help me."

"But… But he… you… you can't keep running away from him, Astrid!" he countered, unhooking my fingers from his jacket and holding my hands in his. "Just talk to him. He'll listen."

"No!" I screamed, ripping my hands out of his grasp and accidentally beating him on the chest. "I can't, Kenneth. I can't. Just the thought of it makes me so sick that I… I…"

He must have noticed me faltering and he grabbed my arms and shook me a bit.

"Astrid, he's not going to be angry with you. I promise. He's delighted to even know you're here! Why would he be angry?"

"Because of… Bennett… and, well… he's… he's not the only one." I pushed Kenneth away from me. "Oh! You just don't understand, do you? I can't meet Adam, Kenny. I can't. I can't! I _won't!_"

"Calm down, Astrid," he said, attempting to tame me by holding me in his arms. "I'll let you go this time, but you have to promise me that you'll talk to him. If you can merit it, he'll be at Lord Pemberton's tonight, attending an important gathering for the maharaja and Admiral Mardling. An engagement is going to be announced between an Arab princess and the maharaja's son. He's likely not to have anything to do because Mardling busies him with stupid orders, so he'll have every opportunity to listen to what you have to say." He looked at the door of the privy. "Adam will be wondering what's taking so long. I'll tell him you'll be out shortly and you exit and make a run for the bedroom at the end of the hall. There's a window you can climb out of there."

I nodded, wiping the water from my eyes and acknowledging the tears that had splashed onto his uniform with a timid smile.

"Remember your promise to me, Astrid," he reminded, letting me go.

"Thank you, Kenny. I'll make it up to you somehow." He smiled and headed for the door, and as soon as he exited, I fled from the privy and sprinted down the hall, reaching the bedroom in time and opening the window. It was a short drop to the ground and I landed on the grass easily enough before speeding down to the street, where I happened to run into Roland, Sefu and Tom.

My Irishman took one look at me in my wispy English dress and scooped me up in his arms before bellowing:

"Where the _hell_ have you been! You've been driving Jack crazy with your absence!"

"I'll explain it on the way." And before Tom could utter another word, I hooked arms with Roland and flooded his ears with all of my worries.

"A certain someone is going to be at the dinner tonight," I told him. "We need to be on our guard."

"I could've seen that coming," he replied, smirking. "This is going to be a very interesting night, sister."

* * *

Cord and I were putting on the finishing touches to both of our costumes. We were stuck in Jack's cabin on the _Pearl_, asking each other if we looked all right, which might have been an interesting scene to witness—a girl of eighteen (I think) asking a girl of ten whether or not she looked her part. And after a few more strokes of the kohl stick around our eyes, Cord and I were ready as we ever would be.

"_Bien_," beamed Cord, adding her jeweled veil over her pretty face. "You may come in now!" she yelled to the cabin doors, and after a brief pause, the doors hesitantly gave way with a soft creak, and Hernán and Guerra stood on the other side, their Spanish eyes enlarged at our sights.

But after their amazement ebbed, their faces pinched in pensive frowns, and while Guerra stroked his mustache, Hernán took a step forward, meant to reach out to Cord, and then drew back.

"_Qué?_" questioned Delia. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know how we're going to get you off the boat," said Guerra. "I'm afraid to touch you both." Cordelia humphed under her veil and placed her hands on her hips.

"I know our garments are lavish, heavy and decorated with many golden artifacts, but you need to carry Astrid and me off this ship. You're supposed to treat us like royalty."

"As if we don't already," Guerra grumbled under his breath as he motioned for Hernán to go through with the plan. He'd have to carry Cord because of his healing leg, and I'd be left to Guerra's arms, which were surprisingly toned.

"Don't get too cozy with her, Guerra," I heard Tom threaten as we were brought down into the little rowboats that would carry us to land. He only received the Spaniard's happy laughter and I elbowed Guerra slightly in the ribs, grinning beneath my veil.

Upon reaching land, we found Jack and, shockingly, a very large congregation of people—natives, that is—waiting on the beach for us, a gaudy palanquin festooned with flowers and golden ornaments ready to take us all the way to Lord Pemberton's home.

"What the hell are all these people for, Jack?" I asked as Hernán placed Cord in the litter first.

"_Mon Dieu!_" cried Cord from inside the palanquin. "Look at these cushions, Astrid!" I peered through the gossamer curtains of the thing and saw Cord flouncing about in the opulence.

"And how the hell did ye get yer hands on such fanciful stuff?" I added, keeping Guerra from dumping me onto the litter. I wanted my questions answered first.

Captain Sparrow only smiled and gestured for me to get into the palanquin with Cord, which Guerra promptly completed. "You two sit in there and once we get moving, you'll understand why." And then the curtain fell, cutting Cord and me from the outside world. We exchanged glances before looking at the bright satin cushions and silky sheets around us before screaming with delight and engaging in a small little pillow fight.

The crowd hired to walk with us steadily grew in number as we made way towards our destination, and by the time we actually arrived at Pemberton's home, the mass of people with us had to be kept at bay by some of the soldiers who patrolled the area. Jack certainly knew how to make a grand appearance.

The maharaja and his son were waiting for us at the footstep of the house, a series of naval officers and Lord Pemberton by their sides. Our arrivals were announced and Cord was the first to exit, a loud and jarring cheer rising up from the mouths of our followers, I came out soon after and stood beside Cord, both of our heads bowed before our hosts.

"Welcome," greeted the Indian prince. He brought over his adolescent son to introduce, and he exchanged mild looks with Cord before acknowledging me with a slight nod. Delia and I bowed with our hands together, fingertips pointing up and said not a word in reply. Jack, who was acting as our "ambassador" came forward in gaudy blue and red silken robes, a matching turban placed atop his unruly hair.

"Princess Fatima and her attendants have taken a vow of silence in response to the raids against her father's sultanate. They will only speak when the bloodshed has ended."

"Well, then I suppose we'd better get on to making marriage arrangements, eh?" voiced Mardling, sending me a wink and crushing any hope I had of him forgetting about me. "Your Highness," he began, gesturing for the maharaja and his son to go back inside with Cord and I following after them. Afterwards, the rest of our supposed "attendants" entered, which consisted of our "guards" (Tom, Roland, Sefu and Guerra), and our accompanying "advisors" (Jack, Gibbs, Baudin, and Hernán). The rest of the crew remained at specific stations along the city and on our ships, prepared to execute emergency procedures should our plan go horribly awry.

There was some conversational mingling to take place in the courtyard again before dinner was announced, but Cord and I, and the rest of our party had to remain silent, except for our "advisors" who were given permission to speak.

I glanced among the officers present for the event and could not find Adam anywhere. However, there _was_ Admiral Mardling, and his fleeting looks in my direction were frequent and growing more intense by the second. _Good Lord, what a rake._

"That cove keeps lookin' at ye," Tom murmured from behind me agitatedly. I smiled behind my mask of cloth. "If he looks at ye one more time, I swear I'll—"

"You're supposed to be _mute_," came Roland's low growl. "If anyone hears you speaking, we're done for." My protective Irishman shut up at that but gave my arm a slight pinch to remind me to behave, and after silently giggling to myself at Tom's blatant jealousy, Adam entered the congregation and immediately sought out Admiral Mardling, hardly greeting anyone who honored him with a 'hello.' He hadn't changed. He was still devoted to his duty.

"Ah, did you make all the arrangements, Lieutenant?" asked Mardling as soon as Adam approached.

"Aye, sir," he answered tonelessly. "Anything else you'd like me to do?" he added, heavily impatient.

"Yes, I'd like for you to pour me two glasses of sherry," commanded Mardling. "And bring one of the glasses to…" His voice trailed and he whispered the rest of his order to Adam, who unexpectedly looked in my direction and almost made me yelp. Adam looked away and sent his stormy blue eyes on Mardling, who deflected such a petty act of defiance with a satisfied grin. "Well, get on it, boy. I don't have all day."

Adam bristled but went to complete the order, obligated to serve his superior officer. He came towards Cord and me, the frown on his face a clear indication of how much he loathed being where he was. He offered the glass to me and said, dully:

"Admiral Mardling sends his greetings and he'd be honored if you sat next to him during the evening meal." He handed me the glass of sherry which I stared at dumbly. He said nothing more and just stood there, as if waiting for a reaction from me; and then as if he suddenly realized something, Adam groaned and corrected himself.

"Apologies. He told me you're not allowed to speak. Will you allow me to take you to him?"

He offered me his arm and I had difficulty restraining myself. I latched onto him before he expected it, and although I had my arm circled around his, I decided to take a calculated risk and hold his hand briefly. I felt him flinch when my fingers glided down his palm, intertwining with his own, and he turned his head to look at me, his eyes brightly amazed and puzzled. I smiled at him widely beneath my veil, daring to make use of such freedom because of the protective _yashmak_ that covered my face.

His mouth worked to utter a reply, his calloused hand responding to mine and holding it tightly, his thumb beginning to caress my skin as he tried to remind his sense of touch of the identity of the lady who was in his company. But he only gawked at me wordlessly before noting Mardling's distant, but demanding presence. He looked back at me and let go of my hand, seeming a bit shaken afterwards.

"He's the man in the flashy uniform," he said at last, pointing Mardling out of the crowd. "After dinner, if he asks you to meet him somewhere, say yes to him. He plans on you coming to him on your own will, and that gives you liberty. Instead of going to his chambers, make as if you are going to the prince's." And then he stepped aside, bowed to me and then departed, leaving me open to Mardling's booming welcome and his subsequent slobbery kiss on the back of my hand.

Dinner commenced smoothly, with Cord and the maharaja's son interacting silently, but promisingly, at the center of the low banquet table, both of them kneeling on the satin cushions supporting their bottoms as they exchanged silly glances and shyly made attempts at concealed physical interaction. Mardling made no attempt to hide his prurient nature, his hand laying possessively on my thigh and occasionally moving dangerously upward during the meal. Eating proved to be a tricky task because of the cloth covering the lower half of my face, and I had to delicately insert my food into my mouth under my veil, and Mardling had tried more than once to remove my _yashmak_ from my face.

"Damn," he muttered after I succeeded in preserving my secret identity. His hand withdrew, defeated, from the circumference of my head. "No matter. I'll see your pretty face soon."

Adam was not allowed to dine with us, at Mardling's order. The maharaja had even prepared a seat for him, but Mardling had declined Adam's invitation. "He won't mind," was the admiral's sorry excuse.

As Adam had predicted, as dinner came to a close, the admiral requested for me to meet him in his chambers later that evening, giving me clear directions and a definite time to join him in his slumber.

"If you want payment, I'll give it to you," he offered, believing that it would make what he was asking of me to be more appealing. Of course, I could say nothing, but he needed to be distracted. He was the head of the main authority guarding the house and if he wasn't there to give orders when orders needed to be given, then we'd have no opposition if we somehow got caught.

I nodded at his proposal before returning to the side of our "Arab Princess Fatima" who needed her maid to help her get ready for the night.

We traveled to our guest chambers as a group, Cord and I surrounded by our attendees, and once we reached Cord's room, we all entered, locked the door and hurriedly went over our procedures again.

As usual, I voiced my disagreements against the role I had to play, but the issue, obviously, was not important enough to be settled.

My complaint was the last to be uttered and we all went our separate ways, Cord to visit the maharaja's son, me to go to the admiral, and the rest of them on alert. I remembered Adam's advice and made way to the prince's chambers with Cordelia, but when we got there, the prince was not present.

"I'll look for him," said Cord. "You should stay here should he come." I agreed and she hurried off, and I waited in front of the prince's chamber doors, counting the seconds in my head before I had to meet Admiral Mardling in his dreaded quarters.

The hall the prince's lodgings were in was large, and his bed chamber wasn't the only one lining the corridor. No one was present, and so I found it safe to open some of the other doors to see if he or one of his servants was in one of them. My search concluded with empty results, and I returned to my spot at the front of the hall, surprised to find that Adam was waiting for me, his hat tucked neatly under his arm.

My feet immediately became rooted to the ground and I refused to take a step further, leaving a good six feet between me and my lovely lieutenant. His gaze hadn't lifted from my face, and what made it worse was that I could not read the look on his countenance. Not a drop of any emotion was present on his visage, and I was left standing dumbly in place, silently stammering behind my veil.

"What are you doing?" he asked me, his voice monotone. I would have answered, but his manner of speaking did not exactly portray itself as welcoming, and I decided to hold my tongue until he gave me a full invitation to respond.

However, he interpreted my silence differently, and he coughed awkwardly, his fingers beginning to drum the rim of his hat.

"Apologies. I forgot that you couldn't speak." He lifted his chin a little, straightening his stature as if he was trying to impress me, and he came forward without warning, making my knees quake and my heart pound mercilessly between my heaving lungs.

In my state of near panic, he bent his head, reached for my hand and kissed it, almost in a mechanical approach, and I bit my bottom lip to keep myself from bursting out in laughter at his formality.

"Mardling expects you in an estimated hour or so," he said softly, still clinging to my hand. "That gives me enough time to speak to you, if you are willing to speak to me in return."

I nodded countless times before he led me into an empty room and shut the door, and somehow knowing that seclusion would prompt me to release my voice, he stood against the door panel, waiting for me to say something; only, I didn't know where to begin.

"K-Kenneth said that—"

"I know what Murray said," he interrupted, seemingly impatient, but nonetheless pleased to hear my talking. But he still kept a large gap between us that drove me crazy. I didn't understand why he was distancing himself from me.

"You're angry with me, aren't you?" I questioned, feeling that that was the matter at hand because if I knew anything about Adam, I knew that he hardly cut anyone's speech short.

He relaxed considerably and came near again, tossing his hat carelessly onto the ground and coming up to me. "I wouldn't say that," he answered, refusing to elaborate. "Why would I be angry? I only expected you to come back yesterday only to have to order Kenneth to tell me why he had allowed you to go. I only had to wait—_again—_as if I haven't waited nearly two years for a word from you, and now here you are, in disguise. You couldn't even come to me as yourself." His sarcasm was biting. "No, no, Miss. I'm not angry at all."

My tongue was frozen, prohibiting me from giving any adequate response. How could I? His anger was justified, and I had nothing to say in my defense.

"What shall I see next?" he continued, visibly frustrated. "I've seen you as what? A child? A lady? A sailor? A midshipman? And now what are you? An Arab? Who _are_ you?"

I looked down, feebly reaching up to remove my veil, but he drew rather close and laid his hands on my own, peeling the cloth away from my face. "Who are you?" he repeated, releasing my fingers from his grip and letting his hands gently take hold of my face. He was so close. _So_ close. I swallowed hard to keep myself from latching onto him and weeping a heap of apologies.

My voice cracked as the achy sobs rose up throat.

"I'm Astrid," I told him, already crying pitifully.

"Truly?" he replied, chuckling lightly as he rubbed the tears off of my face. "It's odd, because the woman I love is named Astrid." I managed a smile at his jest. "Could you possibly be her? She has blue eyes and brown curly hair and a dazzling smile. But now she has a few scars on her pretty face, but I still love her. God, do I love her. If she were here right in front of me, I'd kiss her so passionately that she wouldn't have the opportunity to breathe."

I sputtered out a laugh while pinching his face. _Silly boy_.

"Then kiss me, dammit," I ordered, already looking at his mouth.

"I don't know…" he replied skeptically. "Astrid would never say something like tha—"

He was instantly cut off as I pressed my lips against his own, our mouths parting as soon as we recognized each other; and it was only when I was in his arms again did I realize how much I had truly missed him.

"It's a good thing you closed the door," I exhaled as I broke our kiss. I became a firm believer that Adam was a man of his word for his kiss had, indeed, left me entirely breathless.

He only laughed and closed the distance between our faces again, but his refusal to reply to my observation moved more questions to pop from my lips before he could kiss them again.

"Wait a minute, love," I said, pushing him back a bit. _Easy there, Adam_. "Whose room is this? Is it yours?" He only smiled cheekily and I pinched his chin with my fingers. "Did you plan all of this the moment you realized it was me under this veil?" I demanded.

"Possibly," he answered, electing to remain mysterious in his methods and coming for my mouth again. I recoiled for a bit longer, which issued a soft but still noticeable growl to vibrate in Adam's throat.

"That quickly?" I asked, knowing that I was pushing his nerves.

My inquisitions did exactly what I wanted them to, and Adam, aggravated with my persistence, lifted me up and set me on his bed, his body hovering but a few inches over mine. "I've been taught to be a master tactician, Astrid," he stated. "Does that give you enough information to know my answer?"

"Yes," I smiled, tugging on his collar.

It was all fun and games after that, and I was fine with it all until Adam slipped his hand under my skirt, causing me to give an unanticipated shriek. Only, before I could scold him for being such a naughty boy, he looked at me and asked, with utmost surprise:

"Are you wearing undergarments, Astrid?"

I bit my lip and sat up, but Adam's hand was still on my naked knee.

"O-Of course I am," I lied. I hadn't forgotten what Roland and Hernán observed the other day when they noticed my bare ankles.

He chuckled and slid his hand up further, and I gasped at his boldness. I was about ready to slap him for it, too.

"No, you're not," he chortled. "If you were, your knee wouldn't be bare… and neither would your thigh," he added wryly.

"You… you…" I tried to find a fitting word to relate his rakish manners to, but failed to locate any. "You stop that, now," was all I could manage, weakly, I must admit, but my dear lieutenant was enough of a gentleman to grant my request, and he took his hand off my leg… only to bend over and kiss my shin before re-covering my lower limbs.

I gave him a small kick for the indecency, and he replied with a laugh which I did not appreciate; and so I jabbed him again with my foot, and the sly and quick rascal grabbed my ankle without warning. I shrieked at the abrupt impulse and he only laughed all the harder, refusing to let go of my leg as I tried to wrench it free. Release was finally given after he had teased me some more, and I attacked him with soft, loving punches, winding up sitting on his lap and rubbing noses together after a few more additional antics.

We had only vaulted back into more _heated_ interaction when the door to Adam's room had suddenly burst open and there "Princess" Fatima stood, her face unveiled, her eyes magnified, and her face turning a deep shade of scarlet.

"_Ma soeur?_" she gasped, doubting in her little head that the lady involved in the witnessed amorous embrace was indeed her half-sister.

Adam and I, both startled and tremendously embarrassed, separated without delay, and he played the gentleman and carefully covered my shins with my skirt, for he had (yet again) slid his hand beneath my dress. There was a short expanse of awkward silence before Adam suddenly became enlivened and he turned to me, and said:

"Did she just speak _French_?"

"It's…" I looked to the ceiling for answers. "It's the language we use to speak to each other. It allows us to keep some confidentiality."

Adam furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes narrowing in on my innocent gaze. If I knew anything, I knew that he didn't believe my lies for a second. Yet, what astonished me was that he said nothing about it, and he simply got up from the bed and put his fine blue jacket back on, buttoning it up and pulling on the cuffs.

"I'll leave you two _sisters_ alone," he said directly, sending me a look that was nothing but suspicious.

"Adam, wait," I implored, pursuing him. I fastened my arms around him again, tilting my head up towards his face as I fluttered my eyelids pleadingly at him.

My pity-me scheme worked to some effect, making my lieutenant smile briefly as he tapped my nose with a finger.

"I'll see you again soon, Astrid," he told me, his voice sounding so sure. Our parting of ways was certainly far different from the first time we had to separate from each other back in Port Royal. "Mardling's expecting you. You wouldn't want to be late."

"But—"

It was Adam that time who pulled a spontaneity, and he kissed me without warning, exiting the room shortly after, almost exactly attired as he was when he entered the room with me. The minute difference was that he had forgotten his hat, and upon his very swift and, lamentably, brusque departure, I turned to Cordelia, my eyes burning and demanding a reason for her intrusion. I had only one moment to be with Adam and there it ended at her off the cuff entrance.

"The maharaja's son is waiting for me," she squeaked apologetically, the sniffles already spurting out of her nose. She began to sway on the soles of her feet, and I rolled my eyes and let out a moan.

_Fine. I forgive you_.

"I suppose you'll find out where Jack's treasure is, and I have to be with Mardling so that you can do it, aye?"

"_Oui_," she agreed meekly. I nodded several times, readying myself for my ultimate doom, but I was also doing it to get my mind off of Adam. It wasn't like him to be the aloof character and leave so abruptly. Either he was angry or bothered (or both) or he knew something that I didn't know. But what could he possibly know when I hadn't told him anything? And he couldn't have been steamed about an innocent girl barging in on our most intimate of moments… unless he knew that it would be his last chance to be with me.

I shook my head and let out a perturbed breath, letting my mind focus on my mission. After replacing the veil over my face, I walked over to Cord, took her hand and looked down at her.

"Are you ready, sister?" I asked, needing her encouragement and steady nerves.

"_Oui, ma soeur. Allons-y!_"

* * *

"It's about time you arrived!" boomed Mardling when he opened his bedroom door to find me standing on the other side, displaying my frail and feminine mien behind my silken, billowy robes. "What hindered you? We could have started so much sooner. I have to be on watch, you know."

_Oh, I know, Admiral Libertine_. _I know._

I let him lead me into his lavish chambers, and he never kept himself more than a foot away from me. As soon as I entered that room, he adhered to my body like sweat. The first thing he did was reach out to snatch away my _yashmak_, and with a twinkle in my smiling eyes, I turned my head just in time to avoid his clutch, and after calling me a "shrewd, tantalizing vixen" he rammed me against a wall and slid his hand below my thigh, hauling my leg up so that he could get into a more comfortable position standing up.

I circled his leg with mine and tightened the grip, pushing him into me, and excited by my sense of urgency, he once again tried to take away the cloth covering my face. I turned my head to the side, and he muttered a curse under his breath. I knew I was pushing his patience with my teases, but it was all to buy time. If his only aim at that moment was to see my face, then whatever he wanted to do _down below_ wouldn't come until later. Though, judging by what I felt, later would arrive much sooner than I expected whether he saw my face or not.

"Just a peek," he exhaled, his fingers extending towards my mask. "I just want a little peek." I taunted him further with a smile under my veil, and he repaid my cheekiness by shooting his hand _very_ far up my inner thigh.

_Christ!_

I decided to be more careful, and I managed to pry him off me despite his advances, and found a more controllable spot on the admiral's bed, sitting cross-legged on the smooth sheets while beckoning him with a finger. He pounced on me without hesitation.

_So much for being careful, Astrid, you idiot._

In whatever time he allowed me, I tried to estimate how much time had already elapsed. Jack had warned Cord and I that it would take approximately fifteen minutes to steal the diamond and begin an escape, which meant that I had fifteen minutes to distract Mardling. I judged that only about five had passed so far, which was not good. Mardling was moving _fast_.

However, it seemed that if I didn't allow the admiral to see my face, the only way he'd content himself would be to violate me further down below instead of choking me with kisses. The latter option obviously seemed the safer, and I did not turn away the next time he tried to take off my veil.

"Finally!" he cheered, flinging the stupid cloth away. Only, upon seeing my face, he backed up a little, his countenance awash with awe.

"My God!" he bellowed. "You're more beautiful than I thought! Who would have thought that an Arab girl would end up being so pretty!"

He bent low to plant a kiss on my tightly closed lips, but I spoke before he reached them. Perhaps more shocking discoveries would stun him long enough to keep me from playing the whore.

"I'm sure you were expecting an authentic Arabian maid, but alas, I'm not at all what you wanted."

My accent kept him submerged in unblinking silence, and I curled my lips into a toothy smile at his wonderment.

"Wot?" I teased. "Do ye not like English dames?"

"_English_?" he echoed, almost disgusted. "What the hell is a lass like you doin' in Arab attire?"

I tittered and picked at the buttons on his uniform.

"_Well_… 'tis a long story, dearie," I chimed. "Would ye like to hear it? Or would ye rather continue what ye were plannin' to do?" I looked south to remind him of what he originally had in mind, but Mardling didn't budge. Nor was he amused with my coquettish schemes.

"_English?_" he still scowled, trapped in his disbelief. "I can't bed you! You're probably some poxed harlot reduced to hiding behind foreign clothing to trick men like _me!_"

_Well, aren't you the egoist_.

"Possibly," I said, refusing to clarify whether his assumption was correct or not. The element of mystery was a wonderful tool to work with. "Then again, I possibly could not. Are you willing to take the risk, Admiral?"

I pulled his chin towards my mouth.

_Just five more minutes. Five._

His mouth was close. I could feel his breath bounce off my parted mouth, warm and moist. He was coming down for the kill, and then…

_BANG!_

The knobs on his locked door were shot away and in burst Lieutenant Adam Locke, pistol and sword in hand and a smile on his face.

"DAMMIT, LOCKE!" Mardling burst, his opportune moment once again ruined by his inferior. "Can't you see I'm busy!"

"Yes," Adam retorted. "Busy being distracted from your duties! The palace is being raided and you're here bedding some lass, you selfish git!"

I sat dumb in my place on the bed, still beneath Mardling's body and fully vulnerable. Only now I was finally comprehending why Adam had let me go so easily. The clever little knave figured everything out the moment Cord interrupted our embrace and spoke her French words. He knew when something was suspicious, and he always _had_ be right.

_Damn him_.

I took one glance at Adam and made up my mind. He had his orders and I had mine, and I was not about to let Mardling loose into the fray only to get my father arrested and hanged. Being sure to flick a glare at Adam under my eyelids, I grabbed Mardling's face and kissed him full on the mouth, which only provoked Adam to scream all the harder.

"_Sir!_" he cried. "_The palace is under raid! Damn you!_ _Sir!_"

But I had Mardling in a genuine, certified Astrid Sparrow embrace, and there was no way he'd be able to return to his normal doings afterwards. Oh, no. And Adam knew that very well. Oh, yes, he did.

Arrogance, however, was not the best trait to possess at that time, for Mardling broke the kiss sooner than I had hoped and, pleased, smiled at me.

"We'll finish this later," he whispered before leaping out of bed and heading for the door.

_Oh, dammit!_

I flew after him despite Adam and his supreme dedication to the navy. _Neither of you are going to leave this room until I receive the signal for me to leave, damn you!_

"Don't leave, please! You can't leave me alone in here! What if the pirates come and get me?" I wailed, pretending to feel a swoon coming on.

Mardling looked uneasily at Adam while I peeked from under a shut eyelid. Adam was not falling for it. Of course, he wouldn't.

"She'll be safe. Don't worry about her. Your main concern is the protection of the maharaja and his possessions, and both are under attack at this instant!" Adam reasoned.

"Oh, oh, oh!" I wept. "How cruel can you be, good lieutenant? To leave me all alone in this room? If I'm found, the pirates'll know that I'd make a good profit, selling me off to be the slave of some rich, fat sultan! Oh, I can't be treated as such! Please, sir, have mercy!"

I fell to my knees and begged at Adam's feet, pawing at his white britches and gradually standing up as my hands gripped his fine, strong arms.

The boy was flabbergasted, gawking at me and likely wondering why the hell I was playing such a cheap act. Mardling answered for us both as we stared into each other's eyes.

"Just stay with the tramp!"

"N-No!" Adam protested, wrenching himself from me and following after Mardling. "It's a trap, can't you see it?"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" blew off Mardling, chuckling afterwards. "I've had years of experience, _boy_, and I know a scam when I see one. I've pulled a couple myself."

"But, sir!"

"You stay here, Locke. And that's an _order_!" The Admiral strutted out of his room then, muttering something about how whiny new officers were those days. As soon as he left, Adam whirled on me, his eyes ablaze.

"What the hell are you thinking!" he shouted, venting his frustration out on me.

"What the hell am _I_ thinking, what the hell are _you_ thinking? You're the one who barged in on my business!"

He scoffed and threw down his sword and pistol. They were useless in his hands while stuck in a room with a vexatious girl.

"I know you to be many things, Astrid, but you're not a whore! When you told me you had to meet Mardling, I didn't think you'd actually _do_ it!"

"I wasn't planning to! It's only just a—"

"_Distraction?_" he finished, outraged. "For what, hmm? Tell me, _love_, why are you trying to distract the head of all security in this godforsaken palace?"

I stood up on my feet and gave him a push for mocking me.

"I don't much care for your tone, _sir_," I seethed, grabbing my fallen veil and wrapping it back around my face. I figured that enough time had passed, and I sent many glances over at Mardling's window for my signal. "If you wish to part ways in such a manner, so be it. I'm not going to see you again."

It was a brutal thing to say, but I had to say it. Otherwise, Adam wouldn't soften and let me leave the room. The ploy worked and Adam let down his guard and came after me, his arms at his sides and the creases on his brow smoothing out.

"Astrid, please. I'm sorry. I—"

"It's too late for that now, Adam _dear_," I snapped, catching a glimpse of my signal and inching towards my exit. "First you call me a whore, and then you doubt my honesty, when all I'm really trying to do is survive. How dare you, you filthy sorry man. _How… dare… you!_"

"Astrid—" He came close and I slapped him on the face, immediately regretting doing so.

_Oh, God, Adam. If only I could tell you that I don't mean a bloody thing I'm saying._

"Don't follow after me, Adam. You've chosen your side, and I've chosen mine. It's obvious that you love the navy more than you love me, so why can't I love my ocean more than I love you?"

He said nothing. He only down at me, his stormy blue eyes greyer than ever and the hurt present in them was maddening. I had to look away. And after taking in a shaky breath, I clenched my fists and exited the room, but I felt Adam grab hold of my skirt, trying to stop me. And as soon as I turned around, a fist made contact with my poor lieutenant's face, knocking him down on the floor and into unconsciousness.

Horrified, I looked around me and saw Roland standing dumbly, his fist still up in the air.

"Bloody hell, Astrid!" he screamed. "I thought I was going to punch Mardling, not Adam!"

"You'd better pray to God that he doesn't remember any of this," I trembled, not knowing what to do. I couldn't just leave my lieutenant lying on the floor like that with a bloody nose, so I hauled him back into Mardling's room, gave him a quick kiss (despite how ludicrous it was) and sprinted out of there with my brother.

"How'd the theft go?" I asked during the run. Roland shook his head.

"Not as we planned at all. Somehow they were ready for us, and Cord barely snuck out of the maharaja's room alive." My mind drifted back to Adam. _He knew. The little rascal knew_.

We had to dodge a few soldiers who were busy searching for the "damned crew of pirates" and after a cutting it close a couple of times, Roland and I managed to make it out of the palace and back onto the dirt-road streets of Chennai, meeting up with my Irishman (carrying an exhausted Cordelia), Guerra, Hernán and Ana Maria along the way.

"Hey, bonnie," Tom greeted, kissing me unexpectedly on the cheek. "You all right? That damn navy scum didn't do anything to ye, aye?"

Before I could expel my first dreamy sigh, Roland butted in.

"She made me punch the wrong man! I ended up punching her ex-lover instead of the Admiral!"

"_What!_" roared Tom. "That means the admiral is still out there and searching for us?"

"Aye," allowed my brother, weakly, to acknowledge the Irishman's ire.

"We have to get out of here, _fast_. Jack's waitin' for us at the docks. We have to run like there's no tomorrow. We'll be caught at this rate."

"All too well," said Ana Maria, her eyes widening as she looked behind us. I could see the spikes of marine bayonets, and specks of the blue and red uniforms were visible through the clouds of dust their rapid march was throwing up into the air. I seized Roland's arm.

Tom cursed.

"_Run!_"

Fleeing hand-in-hand with Roland, we tore through the crowded streets, dodging street vendors and passer-bys and knocking down food stands and tripping over passing carts, goats and, unfortunately, even people.

I fell down more than once, losing a shoe in one instance and dragging Roland down with me. We lost track where the rest of the others went, on account of the fact that we had gotten split up as we tried to weave our way around the flood of people flowing in and out of the streets. Brother and I had hoped to take a breather as soon as we reached the docks, but the band of soldiers following our trail were trained and prepared to pursue us until the ends of the earth, and while Roland and I were nearly gasping for breath by the time we reached the docking yards, we couldn't stop. We had to keep going until we reached the safety of our captain and ships.

The problem with passing through the docks was that about a quarter of the navy's personnel were on watch there, meaning that they could easily capture us _if_ they had received word of our newly released criminal records. I knew word was known to travel fast, but I did not expect it to travel faster than we did.

"Oh, bugger," griped Roland, when we had run smack into a troop of marines patrolling the planks of the _Paramount_. And who else was leading them but Lieutenant Kenneth Murray?

"Fix your bayonets!" he ordered, unaware of the identities of the "Arabs" who were about to be shot at his command. I glanced at Roland beneath my veil. Both of our faces were covered, leaving only our eyes visible to our opponents, but he read my look and agreed to it with a subtle eye roll.

I took off my veil and approached Kenny.

"Don't shoot!" I cried, and Murray, astounded, came forward stammering like an idiot in front of me and his marines.

"_Astrid?_" he squawked. "W-What are you doing here?"

"I'm running away from the pirates. They are being chased and I found my chance to escape. Please let us go."

"Then who's that?" he questioned, gesturing at Roland.

"An old friend," said Roland behind his head covering. "I know I look like a bloody Moor, but ye have to let us go, Kenneth. We're only keeping you from catching the real pirates who are still coming down from Lord Pemberton's home."

"Dear God, my mistake," said Kenneth ordering his marines to stand down. "We could protect you two if you'd like. Take you back to England."

"Thanks, Murray, but you'd only be endangering yourselves. These pirates would track us down. We don't want you to get caught in the crossfire." Kenneth consented with a little bit of hesitation and once again joining hands, brother and I took flight and raced through the rest of the harbor. But I made sure to reward Mr. Murray for being gullible and trusting, and I made sure to leave him with a warm kiss on the cheek before waving him goodbye, laughing joyously behind my veil.

By sunset, our crew was safely aboard the ships again. All of us were heavily fatigued from running desperately for our lives, but in all truth, we were content and happy with the way things turned out. Jack was exceptionally pleased, clinging to his prize with a resilient hold. Tom couldn't separate diamond from pirate no matter how hard he tried.

"So, we have your diamond. Now what do we do?" asked the grumpy Irishman.

"Evidently, the task now at hand is to find the next diamond."

"And how are we going to that?" asked Cordelia, her tired frame leaning against the reclining body of her Spaniard, Hernán.

"Simple." Jack set the diamond and its golden encasing on the top of the ship's binnacle, and with a unified moan, we all got up off of our bums and trudged over to the wooden box by the wheel. Cordelia managed to squeeze her way through to the very front, right beside her pirate father, looking at the golden box with wide, eager eyes.

Jack opened the contraption and pulled out the diamond, handing it to the little sparrow behind him with a strict warning.

"_Don't. Drop. It._"

With the diamond in Cord's hands, he pulled a slip of paper out of the case and set it flat against the top of the binnacle, revealing a drawing of a little boy dressed in blue blowing a horn.

"Care to interpret, Captain Sparrow?" voiced Roland, looking at the picture with a heap of skepticism.

"Well," began Jack, seemingly unsure himself. "It looks like a page from a book. There's text below the picture… in a language I can't read," he added, confused as always.

"That is Afrikaans," said Sefu, amazing the entire crew with his random input.

"Can you read it?" asked Cordelia.

"No, but I know Afrikaans when I see it. We had a lot of foreigners come to our village to trade. Their notes—money—had this language on it."

"Well, that solves everything," beamed Jack. "We're off to South Africa. All hands, set sail! Movement, ye slubberdeguillons! I want movement!"

"Wonderful," I heard Roland mutter. "More English to face. It was bad enough having to escape your own kin here in India." He continued to complain as he crawled up the ratlines to prepare the sails.

The rest of us pulled away from the binnacle and went to our appropriate posts as we prepared to set sail. Tom jumped down into a boat and rowed himself back to his own ship, along with half of our crew. And I took the time to mosey about, wasting a few more minutes before Jack scolded me for being idle.

I spotted the Spaniard and Cordelia sitting on the deck and leaning against the rail, sharing my ideal of sloth. After some consideration, I decided to join them in their laziness and sat next to the Spaniard, raising an eyebrow at Cord who was happily resting her head against Hernán's arm.

"So…" I began, picking at my teeth. "How's that leg of yours fairing, Dago?"

"Hurts like a—"

"Uh huh," I cut off, reminding him to mind his mouth around the youngest member of our crew. "Let me take a look."

I prodded the flesh of his leg with a finger, noting that it was bruising in random splotches.

"The muscles are tight," he added, anticipating my question of 'Can you move your leg?' "Ergo, I can't make it budge unless you want me to curse."

"You can't make it budge, but _I_ could," I grinned, positioning my hands on his leg so that with applied force, I could bend his leg against the cramps and pain.

"Astrid, be nice," chided Cordelia.

"Fine. I will. Cord, boil me some hot water and bring me a few sheets of linen. I'll treat him the _nice_ way." Upset that I was driving her away from her Spaniard, but obedient nonetheless, she got up and went underhatches to complete the order. I turned to Hernán.

"I took your advice," I confessed, appearing nonchalant.

"About what to do with your man?" he snickered.

"Yes. And he's not really mine. I'm quite sure that after what I've done he wouldn't want me anymore."

"I'm guessing it didn't turn out too well," he deduced, taking off his _keffiyah_ and running his hand vigorously through his sweaty hair.

"Well, at first, it went very well. Only, as soon as I had to actually do my part in our grand plan, things got a bit… unwell."

Cord marched up from belowdecks and dropped a pot of hot water and a pile of clean sheets next to me. I looked down at the items and then looked at her.

"You know I can't dip my fragile hands into boiling hot water, Delia. Could you fetch me some tongs?" She shot a breath through her nostrils and then stormed away, hating every minute of separation from her favorite crewmember. Of course, if Hernán was occupied, she'd simply cling around Roland. But Roland was busy being a good sailor, unlike the rest of us.

"Do you think you'll see him again to explain everything to him?" asked the Spaniard, out of mild curiosity. I had no reason to assume he was asking it because of other reasons. I heard my share of stories from his shipmates about how harlots fought over him in port. Whether he was proud of such a reputation or not, I did not know. I hadn't exactly asked for his perspective on the subject yet.

"Not likely. I plan on staying with Jack for a very long time. And chances are, my lieutenant will plan on staying with his blasted navy for a very long time as well. We won't cross paths any time soon."

Cord returned with the tongs and I used them to dip the linens into the hot water before carefully wrapping them around Hernán's healing leg. He grimaced as the heat seared his skin, but the warmth eventually became a comfort and he relaxed considerably.

"You're safe for now, I'd assume," was his reply. He was getting bored, I could tell.

"Guerra says you were getting a bit friendly with one of the maharaja's female attendees," I brought up, hoping to keep him awake. As relaxing as his treatment was, he had to stay awake so that his blood flow didn't slow down. That would only result in more cramps in his leg.

"Guerra sees what he wants to see. That man likes to live vicariously through me."

"Now why would he do that?" I asked, biting my bottom lip to keep myself from smiling. I didn't know Guerra had trouble with the ladies. Cord turned to Hernán for his answer to my question. He smiled, aware of our inquisitiveness and shrugged.

"It's a matter of opinion, I think. So I'll leave the answer up to you."

I looked down and continued wrapping the linens around his leg.

"You obviously have some history in that area," I allowed, causing him to release a puzzled, '_Qué?_' I returned his cheeky smile. "Otherwise, your advice wouldn't have worked so well."


	38. Little Boy Blue

_Chapter 38: Little Boy Blue_

"**I** now pronounce you man and wife."

There was a short pause as Tom and I exchanged glances.

"You're forgettin' a line, Jack," informed the Irishman, pushing the words through tight, impatient lips.

"What am I missing?" asked our beloved captain, who was candidly acting as priest for the benefit of the rest of our voyage.

"Nothing," I interrupted, my tone cheery out of nervousness. I reached forward, took the Bible from Jack's hands and shut it. Tom scoffed at me.

"How do ye expect t'get _married_ if we don't—"

"I said the 'I do.' Why must I do more?" I argued, baring my teeth slightly at him and swatting him with the small bouquet of flowers Cordelia had given me for the occasion. "It's not like we're _legally_ married anyway."

"If ye read the fine print, you are," explained Jack, pointing at the Bible. I flung the holy book in Hernán's direction, hoping the Catholic Spaniard would catch it. He didn't, and the sacred text flopped to the deck, and I was assured my place in hell. "_How_ your marriage documents come about, however, will be through _illegal_ means."

"In other words, this marriage is essentially null and void," I clarified, confident in my analysis. Tom expelled an exasperated sigh at my stubbornness.

"Kiss the damn man already, _bonita_!" hooted Guerra, pumping his fist in the air.

"Why don't _you_ kiss him?" I snarled; and suddenly shifting into faux despair, I turned to Jack. "This has been taken clearly out of proportion. You and I both know it was never meant to turn out this way!"

My father looked at me in bewilderment.

"I thought you wanted this wedding," he said.

"I didn't _want_ it. You _needed_ it!" I screeched. I spun around and gestured at the witnesses of my holy vows. "And now the whole bloody crew decides to watch, dabbing at their teary eyes when this is all, really just—"

Hernán shouted something in Spanish, and though I doubted O'Brien understood what he said, it was enough of an excuse for the Irishman to take me in his arms and end my longwinded rant with an even longer kiss.

And that was how I became conjoined with Tom O'Brien in the sacrament of holy matrimony. Fortunately, I didn't have to bear his name and neither did he. We were illegally declared Mr. and Mrs. Lucas, and we were on our way to visit our dear South African cousins for a brief time to mind their newborn son as they attended the funeral of their grandfather. The unnecessary hype concerning my mock wedding was simply that. Give a few pirates an excuse to celebrate and drink, and they will take it, even if the excuse itself is simply a guise; and all of us did, in fact, get very high in altitudes the night Tom and I were "wedded."

"I don't understand how I always get caught up in these things," I muttered to Roland as I packed my belongings in a trunk the following morning. I dumped a few loaded pistols and a dagger in the chest before shutting and locking it.

"Well, as one of the three females on the crew, of course you are going to be singled out to do certain tasks. It gives you plenty of opportunity to prove your worth, sister, or rather, Mrs. Lucas." He ended with a low chuckle.

We were anchored by the South African port of Cape Town, nestled in a calm pool of turquoise waters wreathed in light, white foam. In the distance, the city was visible as a jagged line across the pale horizon, and the masts of docked ships were barely distinguishable as thin wooden spikes. Gulls flew leisurely overhead in the mild, temperate air, congregating in greater numbers above the city and flocking in puffs of white swerving over the Dutch establishment—quiet and subtle in their dissonance. I came up from my cabin heaving my trunk with Roland's assistance. Upon reaching the deck, I gazed out at our close destination.

"It's a beautiful day," my brother commented, letting go of his trunk handle without warning so that he could stretch his arms. The heavy thing dropped to the deck with a clunk and almost pulled my shoulder out of its socket.

"You sound like Grandfather," I remarked, rubbing the sore limb and setting my end of the chest carefully down before going to meet my "husband" by the rail of the _Pearl_.

He saw me approach and welcomed me with his arms open, expecting an embrace which I hesitantly gave him.

"Well, don't you look nice in your pretty green dress," he teased, lightly pinching my blushing cheek.

"Cord selected it," I allowed, gently pushing his hand away from my face. "She said it would compliment your eyes, even though you're not the one wearing it."

"You _are_ gonna be right by my side, Astrid," he contended. He reached for both my hands and I wasn't quick enough to pull away, resulting in me getting reeled towards him rather than moving backwards.

I didn't argue any further. There I had the perfect excuse to show affection to him and yet nothing came of it, and I did not understand why. After all, we _were_ "married." In that instant, my mind thought up a pretty long list of things we could get away with using such an excuse.

"Ye ready to go, sister?" asked Roland as he called to us from behind. He was preparing to go down into the boat that would take us to shore. Tom and I would not (and, thank God, _could_ not) solely be in charge of the mission. Roland was to accompany us as our "English" friend. We were well aware that there were some British in South Africa, and even though Tom and I were supposed to act as people of Dutch descent, we'd still need Roland and his nationalism to get us by any suspicious Britons.

"She'll be ready in a minute," answered Tom. I glared at him for giving Roland a response for me and he only grinned.

In a matter of minutes, all three of us were sitting in the cutter that would take us to shore, Roland and Tom already with their oars in hand; and after waving a few goodbyes and issuing a few promises to Jack that we would do our jobs as well as we possibly could, we set off, plowing through the tame, blue-green waves. All three of us remained silent on the way to shore, but my ears throbbed with noise. It took a long time for the hoots and cheers of our male-dominated crew to recede from my burning ears, no thanks to cocky Mr. O'Brien. My fingers tapped impatiently against my throbbing lips as I sat there in the boat with the sun shooting down on us in long, straight rays and with my girlish squeals of delight resonating in my head. It was no surprise if I sputtered out a short giggle randomly into the silence. I had every reason to be happy.

* * *

We stored and hid our boat in some foliage by the harbor, careful to keep it hidden from the eyes of suspicious sailors and British officers. With that deed done, the three of us ventured into the seaside town, my arm linked with Tom's and Roland walking ahead of us as he scouted the buildings for a good place to take repose and discuss the details of our plan.

We stopped by a tavern that allowed us to eat and sit outside (since it _was_ such a "beautiful day" as dear brother previously proclaimed), and as we took seats at a table bathed in sunshine, Roland took the leadership role and placed a few paper documents on the table, safely away from the plates of stew and tankards of ale we were feasting on.

He looked at Tom and me from the other side of the table and paged through the leaflets.

"I still can't believe that we can actually do this," he said, mostly to himself. "What are the chances of intercepting a mail-ship and finding a letter that gives us the perfect opportunity to seek out a blue diamond in this city?"

Roland found the page he was looking for and brought it out. It was the letter we had stolen from the mail-ship that contained all the information about the situation we were about to immerse ourselves in.

"More so, as soon as we come near the port, we are able to track down the family, find a bit of information about them, and happen to discover that they possess a remarkable heirloom with an uncanny resemblance to the jewel we are seeking." His amazement was impeccably pure. He reminded me of Cavanaugh whenever the doctor made some startling discovery in the specimens he was studying.

"It must be because of _Señor Suerte_," I opined jokingly, half-believing it myself. What ever would we do without our good luck charm?

"I believe that," allowed Tom as he stroked his goatee. "After all, as soon as he spoke at the _wedding_ yesterday, I took Astrid in a loving embrace and—"

"You've made your point, O'Brien," Roland cut off. Clearly, he didn't need to be reminded of the unneeded display of affection because to him, Tom and I were simply "acting" our parts. "We need to find a carriage that will hold our luggage for us until we arrive at…" He scanned the letter for a name. "… the Van den Akker residence." He paused and scraped his fingers against his scalp. "Well, ain't that a mouthful," he remarked.

The two men drifted off into conversation concerned with finding us a coach, and while they discoursed, I sat leaning against Tom's sturdy arm, my face awash in the intense sunlight and a frail wind blowing about my pinned and curled hair. It honestly _was_ a matter of fortune. On our way back from India, Hernán spotted a ship in the distance. Jack gave the order for Tom and his Frenchies to act as agents of France and demand an inspection. The ship, carrying a hefty amount of mail from South Africa, agreed, as it had only a crew of thirty Dutch sailors. Whilst rummaging through the letters and packages, it was Hernán again who found the letter that would earn us a spot in the home of the Van den Akkers. Mr. Van den Akker apparently was requesting the presence of his brother and his family to take care of his newborn son while he and his wife attended the funeral of their grandfather in the Netherlands. His brother lived in Singapore, and that made him the closest relative. The letter was his brother's reply to the request.

"Here is our invitation," praised Jack. "Let's get rid of it." And he tossed the letter overboard with such careless whimsy that he had us a bit worried.

In the letter's stead, we would compose our own response. Mr. Van den Akker's brother would be "occupied" with the sudden death of a close friend and would be unable to care for the baby. Fortunately, he would send in his place his wife's English cousins (with Dutch descent) who were a newly married couple thinking about raising children of their own. The letter was sent promptly after it was written.

We dawdled for a few weeks at sea, waiting to intercept the next mail-ship, and when we did, we found Mr. Van den Akker's acceptance of his brother's arrangement. From then onward, it was simply some coaching on the part of Sefu to teach Tom and me some words in Afrikaans and some intricate lying to create Tom and mine's false histories.

Upon citing Cape Town some few weeks later, it was off into the city to do some investigation on the family and, possibly, the diamond we were seeking. Once again, it was Hernán who came back to the ship one evening with the important, pivotal news, and he found out that the Van den Akker's themselves possessed a pricey heirloom in their abode. How he found such a discovery, no one knew. He was, plainly, just damned lucky.

So it was with Hernán's prized information that we ventured into town that morning ready to execute our plan.

"Shall we head off then?" asked Roland, plucking me from my daydreams.

"Find a carriage first," I ordered, flicking my eyes towards the large trunk I had had to heave around. "I'll wait here while you two find one."

The men looked questioningly at me before looking at each other and nodding at my proposal.

"Don't run away," Tom commanded, earnestly to my surprise. "A runaway bride is the last thing I need."

I merely smiled at him and gave his rugged face a few pats.

"I'll stay right here," I promised.

At their leave, I reclined back in my chair, soaking in the sunshine and falling back into my warm, tranquil daydreams. I remained alone for only a brief time. Before I knew it, a young man had found me, and I welcomed him with a bright smile and a subtle bat of the eyelashes. Seeing as I was sitting all by me onesies, he took a seat across from me and spoke casually of his recent adventures in the city while I ordered some refreshments for the both of us.

"You're lucky to be alive," I commented, swirling the creamy tea in my cup mindlessly.

"You have no idea," he replied, smirking as if recalling many of his life-or-death situations. "With the job I have, it's expected."

"I can imagine," I smiled, snickering as I bit into a tea biscuit.

My friendly company left before Roland and Tom returned with the sought-after carriage. The Irishman noticed that there were two tea cups and two dishes of half eaten biscuits on the table.

"What's all this?" he asked irritably. We were "married" for barely two days and already he was overprotective.

"Someone nice stopped by," I shrugged, getting up from my seat and giving Tom a well-needed embrace of assurance. Even if I was his false bride, a good wife I'd be to him for as long as I needed to act the part. "I see you found a carriage." I began to pull away, but was stopped halfway through my escape, and there was no way I could avoid (even if I wanted to) the bewitching lure of a genuine Tom O'Brien embrace.

We were taken to the Van den Akker residence without further ado, and the house was certainly not what I expected. It was built in the typical European style, looking misplaced in the foreign territory of South Africa. It was square, white, and of massive proportions. The only startling aspect about it was that it was located within the city itself. It was not situated in the calm, less populated outskirts of the port. Rather, it sat smack in the middle of the bustling city, allowing for any suspicious activity to be documented with strict detail.

"This will prove a predicament," Roland grunted as he stepped out of the carriage and tromped over to the black double doors at the entrance of the building.

Tom helped me out of the coach, and hand-in-hand, we followed Roland's path and stood beside brother dear at the doorstep. We were greeted by a young maid who quickly alerted her Master and Mistress of our arrivals, and we were allowed into the foyer to wait as Mr. and Mrs. Van den Akker abandoned their daily doings to speak with us.

Roland stood prim and neat in his new britches and coat, all courtesy of Captain Jack who used the heaps of gold we gathered from fat sharks to fund the many misadventures we would embark on. Tom was dressed similarly and his discomfort in the garments was apparent. The normally blithe Irishman was presently antsy and aggravated, constantly pulling at the sleeves of his jacket or scratching at the itchy wool stockings he had to wear. He cursed frequently under his breath at the damned clothing.

I had imagined Mr. and Mrs. Van den Akker to be what a typical Dutch couple was in my eyes: tall and blond with blue eyes. The two people that greeted us, however, did not fit my archetype of married Dutch duos. Mr. Van den Akker was a short man with light brown hair and bright grey eyes, and very prominent side-whiskers. His wife, on the other hand, was a very thin, petite woman, with strawberry blond hair and striking blue eyes.

"_Welkom!_" they cried simultaneously, catching all three of us entirely off guard. It took me a second to remember to curtsy, and I gave both men at my side slight nudges to remind them to bow. Mrs. Van den Akker went to each of us and shook our hands warmly, speaking to us in Dutch (because I could not understand what the hell she was saying). She had gotten to Tom by the time her husband kindly reminded her that, despite her enthusiasm, her guests were Dutch only in ancestry and spoke English.

"Oh," she realized, smiling in her embarrassment. "Pardon me." She stepped back, standing beside her husband again, and patiently waited for her spouse to greet us properly.

"I am very glad that you all are here," he welcomed heartily. "I am very sorry about my brother putting this burden on you, but I suppose both of us are cursed with ill fortune."

"It's our pleasure to be here, Meneer Van den Akker," said Roland, following his proper greeting with another practiced bow. "May I introduce Mr. Hendrik Lucas and his wife, Anna?"

At the announcement of our aliases, Tom and I paid our respects yet again before Mr. and Mrs. Van den Akker invited us into their drawing room for tea and further discussion of the responsibilities expected of us.

We sat for a few hours on their fine, spotless furniture, sipping hot tea from delicate white china and lifting freshly baked biscuits and tarts from gold-rimmed plates with quaint silver tongs. The refinery was making me maddeningly nervous. Tom ate and drank little, seeing as his training did not consist of how to drink and eat tea properly. If he knew how to take anything correctly, it was liquor, not tea. I managed to remain calm for the majority of our lively discussion, only because Roland kept a very casual and friendly mien. If he could do it, then I most surely could, too.

For preparing to leave for a funeral, the Van den Akkers seemed mighty cheery, and the charismatic couple even poked fun at Tom and I being "newly weds," inquiring as to how our honeymoon went and whether or not we agreed on having children any time soon. I let Tom handle those responses even though I knew he would speak crudely, but our hosts found it all enjoyable. Mr. Van den Akker even reminisced on his own newly wed days, which led him to bring up the subject of his infant son.

"Would you like to meet him? He is napping at the moment, but we will be quiet," proposed Mrs. Van den Akker, already getting up from her seat. I gathered that she was very proud of her baby.

All of us followed after her and traveled up a grand, winding staircase with a smooth, varnished railing of mahogany that gleamed in the daylight pouring through the many wide windows. She led us through a series of corridors where elegantly framed paintings hung over the pale green walls, and she stopped before a narrow door sandwiched between two bedrooms.

"This is his room. The rooms you will be staying in are the ones adjacent to it." And with that, she opened the door and revealed a brilliantly lit nursery where smack in the middle of it all was the infant bed, where the baby Tom, Roland and I would be responsible for lay on his back, gurgling and waving his chubby limbs into the air.

His mother greeted him with a string of indecipherable cooing as she picked him up from his bed and cradled him in her arms, making faces and giving kisses to her toothless, pudgy child.

She gestured at me to come forward and hold him, and despite declining, Roland pushed me to do it anyway. With complete and utter trust, she transferred his warm, swaddled little body into my arms and his round plump head turned up to look at me and I was instantly baffled by his eyes. They were a remarkable blue, bluer than I had ever seen in my entire life. Large and hypnotizing—almost as if the very essence of the untainted Caribbean sea was contained in his twinkling cerulean orbs.

He, undoubtedly, was a very beautiful baby.

"He has wonderful eyes," I commented, finding it safe to tap the small squishy nose of the infant.

"That's what everyone says," Mr. Van den Akker replied. "They are spellbound as soon as he looks at them."

"An accurate observation, I would say. What is his name?"

The Dutch couple looked at each other and beamed.

"Jacob."

* * *

I tapped impatiently on the glass of the windowpane, staring out into the quiet night of Cape Town, South Africa. The streets were dimly lit and empty save for a few drunken lurkers that stumbled over their steps in the clear, refreshing nocturnal hours. I sat by the window untouched by sleep or weariness, my head resting against the pane and my face bathed in the silvery moonlight that seeped through the limpid glass.

The Van den Akker house was silent for the most part, only to be disturbed by the abrupt murmurings and grunts coming from the bed in the room I was staying in. Tom was an antsy sleeper. He couldn't stay still or be silent for more than fifteen minutes. Whether it was a snore or a sigh, he disrupted the tranquil atmosphere nonetheless. Even the infant Jacob was more behaved than he was in the unconscious state of sleep.

The Van den Akkers departed for the funeral they were to attend three days after Tom, Roland and I made our first visit to their home. For the rest of that visit, they informed us of our responsibilities and what we were forbidden to do; and they also told us that their maid, Lieve, would arrive every morning to make us breakfast, remain during the day to provide additional help, and then would leave at night for her own home unless we requested that she stay. Although we weren't expecting a maid to be present in the house, Roland and Tom were confident in their pilfering abilities to elude her eyes. And if searching during the day failed, we could always search at night, when Lieve went home.

Other than that, we had nothing more to do but mind the house and entertain any callers who came by. Mr. and Mrs. Van den Akker were expected to return home in less than four weeks, and that gave us plenty of time to scour their house for the blue diamond.

The first night there, however, I could not sleep for reasons I would only disclose with a fellow female, and if not that, then with a man who actually had morals. And so I wasted the dying hours sitting by the window, watching the stars and listening to Tom snore behind me, waiting for my cue to move—that cue being Jacob's sudden crying, which did not come. What came was far more frightening.

I had been resting against the windowpane for some two hours, completely lost in a daze and slowly succumbing to sleep, when a face suddenly appeared on the other side of the glass, causing my heart to nearly leap out of my throat as I gasped and backed away in a panic, tripping over my two feet and falling hard on my bum as I gaped in horror at the invader.

The intruder, having witnessed my barefaced display of being scared out of my bloody wits, only laughed and knocked against the window, requesting entrance; and after gathering myself with an angry huff and trudging over to the window with a hiss, I granted his wish and let him in.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" I demanded, though at a whisper. I did not want to rouse the baby… or Tom and Roland for that matter.

"To check on you and your husband," answered the Spaniard, his eyes shifting towards Tom's frame lying cozy in the bed we were supposed to share. "I'm surprised you're up."

"But _why_ are you here?"

"Jack sent me."

Of course. Daddy would never find me capable of handling things on my own. For having left me for ten years, I would assume that he'd have no problem with the things I did alone or with men; apparently, proximity played a role in how much of a father he was, which wasn't much to begin with. Though, it was still enough to annoy me.

"You can tell him that we're doing fine, and if it will ease his apprehensions, I am not sleeping with Tom, savvy?"

Hernán shrugged and conceded well enough to my wishes, but not before asking the question I did not want to answer:

"Why not?"

Sadly for him, I was in no mood to be accepting of curiosity and I scowled at him, retreating back to my seat by the window and ignoring the fact that both he and Tom were present in my room. I set my glare on the harmless moon, filling my eyes with its white, celestial light until I felt my anger ebb from my veins. From the reflection in the glass, I could see Hernán standing at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed as he appeared to observe the slumbering Irishman with perceptive concentration. Whatever the Spaniard was thinking, he thought it through and left his spot at the bedpost and proceeded to rummage through the drawers and wardrobe in the room, pulling at handles, digging through cubbies, muttering to himself as the noise from his poking around and Tom's snores began to make my ears twitch.

I knew what he was looking for. Tom and I had already combed through our bedroom before we went to bed, our eyes bent on finding anything blue, crystal, and shiny, but I didn't bother to tell Hernán that we had already looked in all the places he was now looking in. When he yielded no results in my room, he left and ventured into the baby's, which put me slightly on my toes. Even if I had only met the baby once before, I was determined not to make him cry, and if the Spaniard disrupted the child's slumber, Roland and Tom would wake and all the peaceful silence of the night would dissipate like the wispy trail of smoke from a blown out candle.

But _Señor Suerte_ was true to his name and returned to my room some half hour later, his hands empty but still bearing the same silence I wanted to preserve.

"The diamond's not in your brother's room," he whispered, running a hand through his short, brown hair.

"I thought you checked the baby's room," I replied. Any hint of interest was dead in my voice.

"I didn't want to wake him," he admitted, coming towards the window and opening it so he could prepare his leave. "I'll come back tomorrow."

"You're not part of this expedition, Hernán," I told him curtly, getting up from my seat and blocking his exit. He took a step back and folded his arms across his chest, raising his eyebrow at me and smirking. I clenched my fists. "I mean, I know you are, but Tom, Roland and I can handle this ourselves. You said yourself that your particular job for this mission is dangerous. You shouldn't do too much."

His grin would not fade away and it aggravated me. It was the same snide and omniscient curve of the lips so many men showed me when they knew something I didn't, when they knew that they had the upper hand and I was helpless. I hated that smile.

"Why are you angry, Astrid?" he asked, and I thought he had asked it out of spite and I growled at him, appalled at his gall. I was even ready to slap him for it, too. My hand was already up in the air, aimed at making contact with the side of his face.

But then he lost his grin and he took a defensive step forward, letting his folded arms fall to his sides as he looked down at me.

"I am _not_ angry," I answered bitterly. "I just want you to leave. I want you to leave me alone. God, why do you _always_ have to be right? Why are you _always_ so _bloody_ right about everything!"

I sank back in my chair, wiping my eyes quickly before things worsened. I glanced over at Tom, wanting to just lie secure in his arms but he wouldn't give that to me. He just wanted what any selfish man would want in bed, and I was tired of playing the whore. Tired of playing the object. Only, it seemed like that was all I was able to do.

Wordlessly, Hernán shut the window he was going to climb out of and took a seat opposite me and beckoned me to speak. I only glowered at him, having heard of his own reputation as a libertine when at port. He was no different from Tom or any other man.

"You wouldn't understand," I snorted. It was a pathetic excuse, but I didn't want to talk to him.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, and he peered out the window, his gaze glossing over the moon.

"You're right," he said suddenly, catching me off guard. "I'm no better than Tom or Jack in terms of my behavior in port. I get rum and I get salty wenches. But my morals aren't the issue, I don't think." He paused. "What I think is important is that I'm honest. I don't like you, and I think you are the worst pirate I have ever seen in my entire life, but I trust you. How's that for honesty?"

After a biting comment like that, I was obliged to have him stay the night, which, surprisingly, was not unpleasant. I woke up to the bright morning in the arms of my Irishman, revived by a sweet breeze blowing through my open window. After getting up and throwing on a robe, our temporary maid, Lieve, came into our room, uncannily cheery. Her face was flushed and there was a persistent laughter in her voice.

"Did you have a nice sleep, Mevrouw Lucas?" she asked me, beaming as she set a bowl and pitcher of water on our nightstand.

"I did," I returned, somewhat curious over her behavior. "Did you?"

She sputtered out a giggle at that and blushed furiously.

_Ah. No need to explain_.

Hernán returned that afternoon, properly disguised as a business caller. Needless to say, Lieve was rather animated during his visit and the Spaniard distracted her quite well while Roland, Tom and I continued to scour the house for the diamond… and mind baby Jacob, of course.

* * *

Two weeks passed and still there was no diamond to be found. At that point, we had searched the entire Van den Akker home thrice over to no avail. The ever-prized azure gem was nowhere to be found, and to be honest, I was getting tired of tending to the demands and needs of a baby during all hours of the day. The smell of soiled diapers (which I had had to remove, but not clean, on numerous occasions) seemed permanently adhered to my hair; and Tom remarked, when the two of us prepared for bed at night, that I smelled acutely like "piss and…" Well, you get the idea. And I would come back with:

"Well, you don't exactly smell like a basket of roses, either, ye paddy ragabash."

"Looks as if some poppet's enhanced her vocabulary, eh?" he'd say, taking hold of me and tickling me as punishment for my silly insults until tears leaked out of my eyes. Our gallivanting often attracted the attention of both Roland and baby Jacob, and brother dear would barge into our room, yelling at us to quiet down so he could sleep; his shouts, in turn, would wake our little Jacob and we'd all be obliged to calm the tubby mammothrept before we could settle down into slumber.

Only, one night, Jacob would not stop crying.

The evening the young infant Van den Akker could not cease howling was some three weeks into our stay at the Dutch couple's home; and still, the diamond remained frustratingly hidden. Tom had long since abandoned his fatherly duties and decided, without my agreement, to continue the pitiful search for the cerulean jewel. Roland, opting for the less noisy of the two tasks, joined him despite my commands, promising that he would "come back later" to help me when he had done some sufficient searching.

I did not believe his lies for a second.

And so I was left to battle the cries of the hysterical babe until some miracle moved the child to silence himself. I did not understand why he would be in such a bad temper. I had fed him, I had changed his nappy some five times within the last hour, and I had kept him far from any sharp or dangerous objects that could possibly have scratched or harmed him. Why he was howling as fervently as a lone wolf during a full moon, I did not know; and I was in no mood to find out. My ears were ringing with a passion, and my temples throbbed heatedly against the sides of my pounding skull.

I pleaded to the baby many times already to quiet down, and I was sorely sorry for having sent Lieve home at the moment Jacob woke from his nap. Hernán had gone to escort her to her house and I knew it would be quite a while before I could depend on his assistance (he often stayed with the Dutch servant girl for _hours_); but on the day when the normally well-behaved baby decided to throw a tantrum, the normally distracted Spaniard returned to his duties earlier than usual. Hernán took one step into the nursery and then pivoted completely on his heel before heading back out, the palms of his hands already pressed against his ears.

"Wait!" I shouted, racing after him with the thrashing Jacob on my hip. "Come back, God dammit!"

He quickened his steps—_Ooh, you little fiend!—_and hurried down the stairs. I followed him, and the baby's cries echoed with amazing force in the large, nearly empty home as I trailed Hernán through the foyer and into the drawing room, where Tom and Roland happened to be seated, drinking whiskey out of the Van den Akker's fine crystal glasses.

My eyes blazed at their sloth.

"Oh God, Astrid!" whined O'Brien. "I come here to escape that thing's bloody yowls and you bring it all back and ruin my hour of happiness!"

"Shut yer puling, you lout!" I screamed, outraged at the lack of support coming from my crewmates. Tom waved it off with a rude turn of the head, and I had the greatest urge to beat that same head over with the whiskey bottle.

"Just give him a few drops of poteen," he suggested drily. "That'll knock him out, the noisy little bugger."

Without knowing it, I cradled Jacob all the closer to me, and I gawked at Tom with pure, disgusted awe.

"How can you even propose that? He's a _baby_!"

"A noisy one," Roland put in, sticking a finger in his ear with a grimace.

With a roll of my eyes, I immersed myself fully in their circle of laziness, standing in the middle of the drawing room with the wailing baby on my aching hip. My lecture was already formed in my head, and I was ready to give it, too, but as soon as I opened my mouth, Hernán finally chose to help me in a way that I did not really expect or want.

"I suggest you help her," he said in his usual nonchalant manner. "The serving girl told me some rather disturbing news concerning our stay here, in this home, and I'm not going to tell any of you until that baby is asleep."

The Spaniard's ploy worked well enough, and Roland and Tom, although slightly inebriated from their consumption of the whiskey, assisted me in the mission to calm the difficult child. We did not succeed in getting Jacob to sleep, but we did quiet him for the most part. He still remained slightly on edge, however, and we knew we would have to be very, _very_ careful around the house so as not to agitate the already fussy baby. When Hernán told us the dreadful news he had gathered, Jacob was on his infant bed, gnawing angrily on a biscuit Roland had nabbed from the kitchen.

Upon hearing the information, I scowled and tightened my fists. I would have exploded into a full blown panic if Tom had not kept his arms around me, loosening my taut nerves with a gentle pat and rub on the shoulders.

"They cannot arrive tomorrow afternoon!" I cried, my hands already flying to my face and pulling at the skin under my tired eyes. "We haven't even found the diamond yet! Jack planned for this mission to be simple and harmless."

"We saw how well that turned out," Roland muttered. I shot him a look.

"You do _not_ criticize the ways of _my_ father, Roland," I seethed. "Captain Jack Sparrow is the greatest pirate that ever lived and he doesn't need your pitiful complaining!" And after that rare moment of supporting Jack and his daft ways, I turned to the more important issue at hand.

"We need to find this diamond," I said to the lads, my tone grave. "We need to find it _tonight_."

"Do we have any clues?" inquired the Spaniard.

"Yes, we do. _A_ clue." I pulled the same piece of paper that came from the Maharaja's diamond's case and handed it to him. "A page from a children's book. We already had it interpreted. _Little Boy Blue_, it says. Not helpful at all, in my opinion."

Hernán pursed his lips, folded the piece of paper back up and stuck it in his pocket. That disposable grin resurfaced on his face, earning a cold, suspicious and threatening glare from me.

"Let's start searching, shall we?" he proposed innocently. He gestured for me to exit—"Ladies first," he taunted—and I gave him a pinch in the side for his smugness and cheek, which he found as an invitation to irritate me further.

"Your wife is vicious, O'Brien," he chuckled, following me closely and sliding his arm around my waist. I snorted.

"Vicious?" replied Tom, seemingly shocked. "Just wait until you hear what she does in bed!"

Low, manly chortles all around.

"You bastards," I growl. "You bloody bleeding heaps of pestilent cowhearted yeasty codpieces. Damn you all to hell."

* * *

We sat defeated in the drawing room, nearly lifeless as we lay splayed out over the furniture, our minds dead and our eyes coated with a film of thick fatigue.

No diamond.

We had torn the place apart without even bothering to put things back in their places. That was how desperate we were, and still, we found nothing. We found mounds of other treasures—pearls, golden jewelry, silver, ivory disks, rubies, emeralds—but no diamond. No damned bloody blue diamond.

Dawn was fast approaching, the sky already lightening to its normal soft, pale violent as the horizon began to glow. I sat on the sofa, leaning mute against Tom who was adequately drowned in his slumber. In my arms was Jacob, who rested his soft, fuzzy little head against my breast, his raw and pink tiny thumb wedged between his small pouting lips. I looked down at the tamed child and his merry blue eyes winked at me, but anything of that hue only moved me to recall our present and very unlucky dilemma.

A sudden dissonance coming from the back of the house jolted us all into conscious states of mind, and we all reacted with some sort of jump into the air before Hernán left his place of repose, a cushy armchair, to investigate. What followed was a feminine shriek, and I knew that it was Lieve, entering the house through the backdoor and being surprised to see her foreign _béguin_ standing groggily in the middle of the kitchen. That was not the first time she screamed, however, as she expelled many more shrill cries upon seeing the state of the house—how all the books were piled up on the floor instead of being neat and tidy on the shelves, how drawers were pulled out, their contents spilling over their edges, how furniture was tipped over or moved, how all the liquor was drunk, how rugs and paintings and curtains were all ripped from their corresponding walls and floors. She must have thought us mad.

She herself was very _mad_ when she found our decaying forms in the drawing room.

"Meneer and Mevrouw Lucas, this is an outrage!" she burst. "My master and mistress will be here by sunset and the state of the house is a catastrophe!"

We said nothing.

"What on earth were you thinking when you did this? Complete disrespect for my master and mistress…" She continued to fume about our indecencies, and she had worked up quite a fit—complete with a cherry red face, throbbing temples and blazing eyes—when Hernán interrupted her with a smooth and calm:

"Do you know where your master and mistress keep their family heirloom?"

"Why?" she asked. For all her doting on Hernán, she was quick to display her suspicions.

"We were occupied last night by a thief," he explained coolly, almost as if it was an unimportant matter. Lieve's eyes grew rounder and larger.

"A thief? Here? Why did you not send for anyone!"

"The thief came in disguise," he said. "Around midnight, we received an odd call at the door. A middle aged man and his young son were there, seemingly in bad shape and seeking our assistance. Of course we provided them with it. We gave them a room and bed, we even had a nice chat and used some spirits to liven _their_ spirits. After we had gone off to bed—this was perhaps around three—we began to hear some commotion going on below, and we woke and found this man and his sun ransacking the house!"

Hernán, at his voice's crescendo at the end of his part of the tale-telling, sent us a look, commanding us to continue his tricksy fib.

"We tried to stop them," I said, adding a touch of dread and panic to my voice. "But they pulled guns out of their jacket sleeves and threatened to harm one of us or the baby if we did not help them!" I heaved a sob out at the "terrible" incident.

"We had no choice but to comply," Roland contributed, convincingly apologetic in his tone. "When they couldn't find what they were looking for, they threatened to harm us anyway. Meneer Lucas took a defensive position, but he was knocked out cold with one of the pistols. We were startled when you arrived because we thought you were the burglars."

Lieve clearly looked sorry for having scolded us for being a bit sloppy.

"I'm asking you where the Lord and Lady keep their heirloom so that we can re-hide it in a safer place should those despicable thieves return. They must have known that the Van den Akkers would be out of town," said Hernán.

"You must tell the authorities about this," suggested Lieve. "We cannot have this happen again."

"The heirloom, Lieve," Hernán reiterated, somewhat harshly. "Where is it?"

After smiling sheepishly and squeaking out a soft and incredulous "Oh," she led us up the stairs and into, of all rooms, the baby's nursery where she pointed to a paperweight sitting on the bookshelf. If anything, it looked like a simple rock with a series of markings engraved into it.

The lads and I stood gawping at the jagged rock as Lieve took it down from the shelf, handing it to her Spaniard first. Hernán ran his fingers over the thing, inspecting it with a furrowed brow and with something short of a grimace on his scrunched-up face. We were not expecting the heirloom to be some dull, brown miniature boulder, that's for sure.

"Th-Thank you, Lieve," Hernán managed to say. He placed it back on the shelf and cut his eyes to me. I read the look and piped out a cheery:

"Why don't you start breakfast, Lieve? I'll set to getting Jacob bathed and ready. We'll meet you downstairs for breakfast in an hour, how is that?"

The Boer girl gave her consent with a curtsy, and as she left, I noticed her give the Dago a slight pinch on the forearm and I smiled at the sneaky action. _Hmm. She's going to be cooking something special for you, Donny_.

As soon as she was out of the room, down the stairwell and well into making breakfast, I locked the nursery door and faced my male companions with a forced smile.

"Well, gentlemen, this day could not get any worse." I lifted Jacob off my hip and shook my head at him. "And don't you dare go off into one of your tantrums again, lovey," I chided, giving the babe a kiss on the nose as he laughed and gurgled at my empty threat.

"All this time we were lookin' for a bloody rock," mused Tom, scratching his head.

"We still are, in a way," said Roland, beckoning Hernán for the earthy heirloom. "The one we were expecting was just supposed to be… more… shiny-like and… blue."

"Well put, Turner," grunted the Spaniard, ill-amused with the innocent comment.

"Come now, laddies," I began, trying to regain some of my feminine composure. I sauntered over to Tom and slipped my arm around his. "We'll find another way out of this rut, but I think it's best if Jack doesn't know about our inescapable predicament, savvy?" My eyes were set on Hernán when I said the words. He had already acted as Jack's messenger on numerous instances. Their ensuing silence convinced me that they would try and think of something to do, and so I turned my attention back to baby Jacob and gave him a slight bounce.

"Time for a bath, my sweet," I smiled.

"Yes, _please_," grinned O'Brien. I gave him a playful swat about the gob, and before I could even stand on my tip-toes and greet my Irishman with his morning kiss, Roland let out a gag.

"It's morning, for God's sake. Show some decency to the new day."

I stuck my tongue out at him.

"What are you, Roland? Five?"

* * *

The situation remained in its moment of mute and cooperative futility, allowing us to separate in order to let off any resentment we held inside. Hernán found it best to assist his new, lovely Dutch maid, and Roland and Tom went off to make a round about the house, taking note of its many ins and outs should we have to suddenly pull an escape attempt out of the air. Jacob was in my care (as usual) and he did not like the idea of a bath and screamed until I swore the insides of my ears turned to mush. I gave him a variety of trinkets to entertain himself with—_What about this wooden horse, eh? Or the rings around my neck? Do you like that? No? Well, how about this?_—I turned and grabbed the first object my eyes set on and dropped the precious heirloom of the Van den Akkers into the wet, greedy hands of their son. To my amazement, he quieted, only to want to start gnawing on the chunk of rock. I decided against that idea as it would only make his toothless gums bleed, but he would not be parted from the stone.

"Fine," I scowled. "Go and eat the rock. See how it tastes." As if he understood me, the baby licked the bumpy surface of the heirloom and twitched after tasting it. From then on, he only splashed with it in the basin of water I had sat his soft bottom in.

Jacob was dry and partially wrapped in clean linens when I heard a stomping going up the stairs. I picked the baby up, and he picked up his new best friend, the rock, and we exited and stopped by the top railing of the staircase. Hurrying up them was the Spaniard, looking even more distraught.

"She's gone!" he exclaimed. My lack of expression did not change. To think he'd actually expect me to understand what it was he was shouting about. He caught on quickly and said, "Lieve! She's gone!"

"What do you mean she's _gone_?" I questioned, taking one step down the stairs. Jacob leaned over the arm that was holding him securely and began to beat the heirloom on the shiny railing.

"I went to the dining room to eat, and when I returned to the kitchen, she wasn't there. I called for her, she didn't answer. I suspect she's gone out on an errand."

I looked curiously at Hernán. He did seem rather worried over a simple servant girl.

"I think she's fine, Hernán. She's probably just gone out to get some ingredients for lunch or supper. Her master and mistress _are_ returning today."

"I've considered that. But she would have invited me. She likes having me around to carry the baskets full of goods that she purchases. I suspect that she's gone out to tell the authorities about the supposed burglary."

My stare grew icy and he noticed it. He took a step backwards on the staircase.

"Why are you still here, then?" I said, affecting calmness in my voice. "Go out and bring her back!"

Jacob dropped the heirloom in that instant, causing me to let out another squeal as the bulky thing dropped from the top of the stairwell and broke apart on the floor. The house went dead silent and Spaniard, baby and stupid Mrs. Lucas stood dumb in their spots, eyes fixed on the crumbled remains of the Van den Akkers' precious possession. Roland and Tom came tumbling into the foyer where they received a good and close view of the now worthless piece of rock, and brother looked up at me, his eyes expressing his disbelief.

All of my companions switched their gazes to me, their faces now firm and grave, and I pointed a finger at the laughing baby in my arms.

"His fault," I blabbered out. "Wot'cha lookin' at me for?"

We all ended up gathering around the broken piece of hard earth, Jacob still clapping his fat hands delightedly in our presence as Roland bent down on one knee and inspected the damage. He brushed away the rubble and debris and…

"Oh, my God," he stammered, his hands now faintly quivering as he removed more pieces of rock. "It's… I see… Blue? Yes! My God!"

"What? What is it?" I demanded, crouching down with him.

And then I saw it. Smack in the midst of its rocky outer shell sat the blue diamond we had long been seeking, a withered piece of paper snug behind it. Roland took the jewel and its remaining rock shell and beat it on the floor until the rest of the stone pieces fell off, leaving just the azure gem and its accompanying piece of paper in the palm of his hands.

"Well, what'd you know?" He gave out a hoot. "It proved to be right after all. Thank you, Baby Jacob."

The wee child bubbled out his snorts and giggles and I could not help but bombard his fat, round face with many wet kisses of joy.

"Oh, you lovely baby, you!" I praised, lifting him up in the air and swinging him about. "How I love thee!"

"Christ, you know she's in love with someone when she starts gettin' poetic!" said Tom, joining in on the celebration and snatching the smiling baby in his arms as he tossed him up in the air, only to catch him safely in his strong arms. "How come you don't use that language with me?" he asked, looking at me as Jacob was flung into the air, shrieking with laughter.

"I don't think you'd appreciate poetry, Tommy," I replied, crossing my arms at having my dear baby taken from me.

"You're right. I hate poetry. You know me too well, bonnie." He winked at me and caught Jacob for the last time when the front doors of the house burst open and in marched Lieve and a team of English officers.

_Oh, Lord._

I seized the diamond and paper out of Roland's hands, and, using Tom as a cover, stuffed the objects hastily down the front of my dress. I heard Hernán sniff as I did it.

"Well, that's surely one place these men will not check," he commented quietly, half-smirking.

"Which is exactly why I did it," I huffed, my hands on my chest as I made sure that the diamond was comfortable where it was. "Does it look all right?" I asked him, without thinking. His jaw dropped and after a few silent seconds, he managed to stammer out, "I guess they, I mean, _it_ looks… normal." He cast his eyes away.

"Sorry," I murmured, the heat already painted on my cheeks. I came out of hiding behind Tom and took his arm, greeting Lieve and the officers who now stood in the foyer with us.

"Tell them what happened, Mevrouw Lucas," Lieve prompted. "They will take care of all of this before my master and mistress return."

I stared at her blankly. I couldn't remember the exact sequence of how the "theft" went because all four of us had fabricated a different part of the tale. Great. She had picked on the dumbest of the entire group to regurgitate the story in front of English officers. Splendid.

"Well, around midnight we received a knock on our doors from two men. They were looking for a place to stay and seemed very poor and out of sorts, so my husband and I"—I gestured at Tom, who graced them all with a short nod—"decided to let them stay the night. They seemed harmless and very exhausted, so we did not suspect them of treachery. But later that evening, we heard raucous noises coming from the lower levels and we woke and found them looting the house!"

One of the officers, the most senior and consequently, the leader of the troop, came up to me and took out a pad of paper and a piece of graphite.

"What did these men look like?" he asked, his eyes not leaving the paper as he waited for my response.

"I thought one was a boy. The man's son," intruded Lieve, growing disconcerted.

The officer looked at me and I smiled sheepishly.

"Forgive me. My memory is failing. I did not get any sleep last night." I made my eyes roll slightly back into my head as I pretended to falter a bit, and the officer, had already poised himself to catch me should I swoon. I recovered, however, and went on with the story.

Before I continued, Hernán kindly ushered Lieve out, suggesting that she make some tea and prepare some small cakes for the officers as, more likely than not, they would remain in the house for a good couple of hours discussing the investigation and would need some form of refreshment; and with the servant girl gone, locked up in the kitchen with her favored Spanish company, I could relate the story to my fellow Englishmen as it came to me in my imagination.

"As you can see, the Van den Akker house isn't exactly in good condition," I offered the men seats in the dining hall, as that was the only place in the house with a table and chairs that still stood upright. "So please forgive the informality."

"Easily done, Miss," replied the officer. Tom gave a low growl. "Ah, _Missus_, my apologies."

And so after munching on some breakfast rolls and coffee whilst chattering with pleasant investigators, my dear English friends decided it was time to actually get started on the hunt for the thieves. They bid us all a fond farewell and wished us a safe journey back to Singapore. Though, before they left, I was sure to ask them if they had come across any of the navy personnel I intimately knew.

"No, Mrs. Lucas," said one. "But I do have a young lieutenant from the late _Resolve_ serving under my command. He is delivering a message for me. Perhaps you may come across him in the city and ask him yourself."

I hoped that it was either Johnson or Kennedy. They would surely know the whereabouts of Roland's and mine's seafaring friends.

The rest of the day commenced smoothly. Lieve and Hernán set to work on making the house presentable again while Tom, Roland and I packed our things. I removed the diamond from its, er, scandalous hiding spot and placed it in a small pouch I used to carry my coins. After that, it was just saying goodbye to the darling baby Jacob and waiting for the Van den Akkers to arrive.

The Dutch couple came home in good spirits, keeping their talk of the funeral brief as they reunited with their happy baby. They did invite us to stay for dinner but Roland insisted that we had a ship to catch. I did make an empty promise to visit them again one day to see how Jacob had grown, and they gladly admitted that they would eagerly await the day. After a few more farewells and many thanks, all of us were off into the carriage and given a ride down to the docks.

I leaned against Tom the entire time, reflecting how bittersweet our stay in South Africa was. As I was helped out of the carriage at the docks, I looked up and was greeted with the same beautiful blue sky, lush breezes and singing seagulls that welcomed me when I arrived.

"I will surely miss that baby, Tom," I said, resting the side of my face against his muscled arm. "Because of him we didn't fail our mission. You realize that, correct?"

"Aye, I do," he said.

"And I will miss his large, bright blue eyes, and his laugh and his tubby hands, and—" My eyes were beginning to water.

"Astrid, if you're hintin' at something, ye can just go ahead and say it," Tom teased, giving me a nudge with the arm I leaned against.

"Wot?" I looked up at him and read his eyes. "Oh, you can't possibly think that, I'd… we'd… You bloody nincompoop!" I gave the top of his head a slap before running my fingers through his bright red hair. And oh, the kiss that would have followed would have been so nice, with the sun shining in our faces and the air calm and warm. But, no. Such a kiss did not happen.

"Miss!" There came a call behind us. "Miss!"

I turned around, my arm still linked with Tom's and my throat tightened. I tried to swallow, but I could not. I tried to breathe, but I forgot how. My arm almost dropped out of Tom's before freezing up and clinging desperately back to him. I choked on the very air in my lungs.

"I believe you dropped your handkerchief, Miss."

In cold, intense fear, I looked down at the hand before me, my handkerchief tightly in its clutch; and when I did not take back the token, the hand withdrew and the body that it belonged to straightened up.

"It's nice to see you, Astrid," he said.

I swallowed down my frenzied heart and cast my pale, ashen face away from the haunting eyes of Lieutenant Victor Griffith.


	39. Nightshade

_Chapter 39: Nightshade_

**I **lay on the warm grass twixt my brother and my Spaniard. To their sides lay their respective company: Cord to Hernán's right and our new and peppy friend, Caiomhe_,_ who, to the surprise of every single man in our crew, was none other than Tom O'Brien's _sister_.

I squirmed under the radiant sunlight, troubled by Jack's plans for stealing the diamond that waited for us there in Ireland. None of my other comrades seemed particularly worried about the way Jack decided to approach the venture, but that was because they were too distracted by our present environment and its accompanying population. In fact, the only Irishman in our crew was currently planning a homecoming party for himself in his home village, of which our entire crew was now welcomed to as temporary guests. The placement worked well for everyone else, but not me. I could not have been more agitated.

Of course, I had voiced my disagreements to no avail. Usually, I would have dropped the issue, but I could not when the subject pertained to was my daft, pirate father.

"Why is he doing this?" I asked. I received no valuable reply. Roland was clearly absorbed in Caiomhe's watery-green eyes, Hernán was mindlessly plucking grass blades while looking up at the drifting clouds, and Cord was occupied weaving a crown of flowers.

"For Christ's sake!" I burst, giving both men beside me a good swat. They were jolted out of their daydreams and set their angry eyes on me. "Aren't any of you concerned that Jack has decided to do this mission by_himself_? Gibbs and Ana Maria aren't even with him, and he trusts them the most out of anyone!"

"Astrid, you selfish pig," Roland retorted. "You can't expect to take part in _all_ of these adventures. Has it ever crossed your _thick_ skull that perhaps we're not needed to get this gem?" He rolled over so that he faced his darling Irishwoman again.

Caiomhe (who kindly informed me that her name is pronounced _kee-vah_) took pity on me and jabbed Roland good in the ribs. She propped her freckled face up on the palms of her hands and looked over Roland at me.

"I'm sure yer da has his reasons, Astrid," she said, noticing a weed stuck in her red hair and, distracted, yanked it out and chucked it at Roland's face. "I'm sure he'll be jus' fine. He's a big boy, ain't he, eh?"

Everyone chuckled at the last comment. I contemplated getting crosser over the matter, but Caiomhe had a point. It was silly for a girl to worry over what her grown father did. Plus, I told myself that there were many things Jack probably did behind my back that I'd rather not ever be exposed to.

We were interrupted further by Tom's booming laughter as he sauntered down the hill towards our little posse.

In his own tongue, he told Caiomhe to go help their _maimeó_, or grandmum, with some of the cooking for his celebration that evening. Roland, tied to his new love interest like a helpless puppy, accompanied Caiomhe up the hill and into her grandmother's cottage. Meanwhile, Tom gave Cord and Hernán one swift look and they got up and left me, one slower than the other.

O'Brien slid into a spot beside me on the grass and grinned.

"It's not going to work," I told him. "I've seen you prancin' about your village with all your past lovers giggling at your heels."

His grin remained. _Well, he ain't going to attempt to deny them, that's for sure_.

"I could say a lot about you, too, bonnie," he replied, keeping his voice low. "What was that fop's name what was callin' you in South Africa? Griffith, is it? God knows what you two—"

He didn't get any further because I had pinched his lips shut with my forefinger and thumb. _That's right. I dare you to say more, Irishman_.

"What happened between me and him stays that way, savvy? It's not some thrillin' gossip ye can vomit back to yer whores." I got up on my feet and stomped away, and I could feel Tom's eyes boring into my back as I left him where he sat. I only managed to rub it off my mind when I heard him yell:

"By the way, lovey! Jack's back in the village!"

I flung myself back into the heart of the little Irish establishment, scanning all faces for one of Jack's trademark characteristics—the beard, the hair, the scarf. After some searching, I found him down at a bottom of another hill talking with, out of all people, my brother.

"I'd leave them alone, if I were you."

I turned to find Hernán leaning against an old abandoned well at the top of the hill. He was doing his usual snooping around, which was nothing less than what we expected from our delegated spy.

I took his advice and approached him by the well, sitting my bum on the aged stone rim and keeping my balance by sticking both my hands on the worn, corroded rocks. He glanced at me briefly and, thinking I wouldn't notice, took a step to the side.

"You dealt with your Irishman rather quickly," he remarked.

"I'm in no mood for his games," I replied. "There's plenty of time for that during the party tonight." He smirked as he looked off at Roland and Jack.

"I don't understand why time has anything to do with it. You had _plenty_ of _time_ for that in South Africa, didn't you?"

I growled and crossed my arms.

"_Nothing_ happened. What do you think I am, Dago?"

"Diseased," he answered readily. "I won't even touch on the subject of the man who stopped you at the docks in Cape Town." He inched further away.

I made the mistake of lunging out to grab his sleeve, but he wasn't expecting the move and reacted defensively, elbowing me in the face and pushing me backwards—_straight_ for a ride down the old, reeking well. He realized his error too late, although he had tried to catch me. He even had a piece of my ripped skirt in his hands when he turned around to see if anyone had noticed what he did. Meanwhile, I landed on my side in a cool, pungent, stinking puddle, and I was certain that I heard a couple of cracks echo among the stones when I hit the bottom. My head throbbed and I could taste the familiar bittersweet flavor of blood in my mouth.

From below, I could hear people's voices coming up the hill to see what had happened, since I _had_ let out one hell of a scream.

'_Astrid fell down the well?'_ echoed to my ears.

It was Jack.

'_That's wonderful!'_

xXx

I couldn't go to the party that night for obvious reasons. When Roland had retrieved me from the well, the entire right side of my body ached. I could barely even walk. Caiomhe suggested I take rest at her grandmum's cottage, and I was placed on a spare cot in Caiomhe's room after she and Cord had washed the blood from my face and hair and clothed me in one of Caiomhe's old frocks.

The blood, thankfully, was not my own. I realized while I was waiting for rescue that a dead sheep was rotting in the well with me. Its head was almost decapitated and it stared at me with its dead, amber eyes as I wallowed in its bloody filth. Roland had seen it when he came to get me, and he deduced that it was probably killed by a dog or wolf.

Caiomhe disagreed.

"There haven't been wolves in Ireland for decades, Roland," she said. "And why would the poor lamb have fallen down the well? It doesn't make sense." She looked at my brother with worry weaved over her knitted brow.

My brother just shrugged.

"Well, it's just a dead sheep," he replied, failing to comfort her. "It's nothing to mull over."

Everyone's worries were quelled when the party actually got started. I could hear the music and the laughter and the shouts of joy as I lay in Caiomhe's bedroom, and I cursed the Spaniard repeatedly in my head because I could not attend. Tom was probably dancing and getting drunk with all twenty of his fair maidens, while I was stuck with several injuries.

The following morning dawned quietly. Usually Caiomhe's grandmum, Úna, was up at that hour sweeping her house and making breakfast, but even the old lady had a festive spirit and had eaten and laughed and drank well into the night. Of course, _I_ was awake, and nothing could come of it because half my body was broken. And if not broken, then it sure as hell felt like it was.

In fact, the first sound of a moving human did not come from any of the villagers. It came from a visitor who had entered the little town upon horseback and, of all places to stop, had knocked on Maimeó Úna's door.

No one answered, and the fellow waiting outside yelled to catch our attention.

"Hello? I believe you have an injured person in your house. I'm here to inspect her injuries!" It was followed with more knocking, and the thumps against the door grew progressively louder.

I sat up without realizing it, and as I let out a groan at the pain, someone had finally woken up and opened the door.

"Oh, hello, Doctor."

It was Caiomhe. She hadn't slept in her room, and I figured she had slept somewhere on the floor after passing out from the party.

"I'm sorry about the delay," she said tiredly. "We weren't expecting you."

"Forgive me, Miss O'Brien," apologized the doctor, "but a man had informed me in town that his daughter was in need of medical assistance."

_Ah, so Jack remembered after all._

Before long, everyone in the house, which included Cordelia and Roland, were up, and while Caiomhe and her grandmum went to be hospitable hosts to the newly arrived doctor, Roland came into my room, his hair a mess, his eyes red and puffy, and his shirt wrinkled and loose. I did not have to ask him what he did last night.

"Morning, sister," he yawned, stumbling over to my bedside and drawing a chair to sit in. He stated the obvious. "Doctor's here to take a look at you."

I could have replied with a bitter, "Yes, I know. I heard him," but I didn't. Caiomhe had entered the room after a soft tap on the door and with her was the doctor. My jaw had promptly dropped upon seeing my medic, and Roland thoughtfully reminded me of my blatant display of surprise with a slap on my chin.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sparrow," beamed the doctor, shaking my left hand—my _good_ hand. I managed my widest, fakest smile. "I'm Faolán Cavanaugh. I'm here to make sure you haven't broken half of your body with that unpleasant accident of yours."

_Ha! Accident! I highly doubt it, dear doctor._

"Did you say your name was Cavanaugh?" Roland questioned, tweaking me from my cow-eyed stare at the young physician.

Doctor Faolán's uncannily bright green eyes widened with a spark of delight, and he parted his lips over his very white teeth.

"Yes. I'm guessing you've met a fellow Cavanaugh recently?"

"Worked with, actually," I joined in. "Dr. David Cavanaugh. Ship's surgeon of the HMS _Resolve_."

Doctor Faolán closed his lips but kept the smile, and he set his leather kit of medical tools and supplies on a nightstand. Roland got up from his seat to offer it to the doctor, and as soon as he was seated, he leaned forward, looked at me, and said:

"My uncle failed to mention having female assistants in his travels. Is that common in that navy of yours? If so, I may leave town to offer my services."

Roland snorted. I laughed. And the doctor continued smiling.

After some very thorough inspections in the privacy of Caiomhe's room, my injures were recorded as thus: right arm broken in two places, wrist fracture, sprained ankle, torn ligament in the knee and possible pelvic bone fracture. When Dr. Faolán had read the list aloud, I was imagining ways to exact my revenge on Hernán.

"I'll have to wait until all of this bruising has diminished," said Faolán, grimacing as he traced a finger over the massive purple blotch spreading over my thigh. If my leg was a map of the world, the bruise would most definitely be the monstrously hulking continent of Asia. "Before then, however, I can't ensure that you do not have a broken hip, dear girl."

"Shall I be bed ridden for the next two months, then?" I asked.

"I can treat your arm, wrist, knee and ankle, and I can give you a remedy to cope with the pain, but your pelvis is what troubles me." His eyes were still concentrated on my waist, and I wondered if he dealt with cases like this on a daily basis. It wouldn't be difficult to understand if many of the village's young ladies had purposely injured themselves to earn just one visit from him. He was gentle in his examinations, courteous, and precise. He knew what he was doing. It was a wonder the man was still unmarried.

By the time he had set my arm in a sling and arranged a splint and other wrappings around my knee and ankle, it was only mid-morning, and the O'Brien family and its guests were still munching away on their breakfasts. After Dr. Faolán had bid me farewell with a short bow and exited the room, I heard Roland immediately say:

"Has she been treated? It took you a godawfully long time. What did you do?"

There were no words to describe my brother in that moment except for 'transparently overprotective.' The doctor merely replied with:

"_Plenty_ of things, Mr. Turner. But I _am_ a doctor and doctors and patients have an inherent code of confidentiality when it comes to these sorts of things."

Snickers and giggles came from Cordelia and Caiomhe.

"But…" continued Faolán. "You can rest assured that she will be doing _much_ better from this day onward, Mr. Turner. There is absolutely nothing a professional doctor cannot remedy." There was a pause. "I'll be back in a few days to check up on her."

xXx

That night, before going to bed, Caiomhe and I were idly chatting about the day's events and other nonsense. She told me about how she had set up a little picnic on the hill for herself and Roland, and I told her about how I sat all day in bed and daydreamed.

"Ah, thinkin' about the doctor, Astrid?" she teased. "Ye know, as nice a man as he is, it would make me very sad if ye didn't stay with me brother."

I wrinkled my nose.

"Why?" I could help but ask. There was no comparison between Tom and Faolán. It wasn't doable.

"Well, then we wouldn't be sisters in the future, now would we?"

She laid herself in her cot and pulled the covers up to her chin, humming as she got comfortable beneath the sheets. Some silence passed between us, and then Caiomhe sighed.

"He treated me once, ye know," she whispered into the dark. There was naught but a small window over Caiomhe's bed to let in some moonlight. "The doctor, I mean. I hurt me ankle bad when I was tryin' to run away from those damned Whelan boys—did I tell ye that they would've ruined Roland and mine's picnic if yer brother hadn't threatened them? Anyway, it was Dr. Cavanaugh who came and treated me, and all the other girls were so jealous." She laughed. "He was very nice. I told me maimeó 'bout his visit and she told me that he fancied me. I didn't believe it. I still don't."

"Well, why not give him the chance, Caiomhe?" I suggested. Hell, _I_ would have given the handsome bloke a chance.

"Astrid, I am sixteen years old. I live in a country village. My life is simple. His isn't. He's one of those scientific men… and well, everyone knows he's a bit of a nob, what with half his family livin' in England and living like the English and forgettin' 'bout their Irish roots."

"Roland's English, Caiomhe. And you know who his mum is? She's the daughter of a former governor of Port Royal! Now, if that ain't nobish, then I don't know what is." She said nothing in reply. "And… and did I tell you that he was an officer in His Majesty's Navy? Roland is as English as the English can get."

Even though I could barely see her, I knew O'Brien's sister was glaring at me in the dim.

"He's different," she said, at length. "And I like him. Besides, I could ask _you_ a lot of questions 'bout why you like Tom. So leave me an' Roland alone, and I'll leave you an' Tommy alone."

Sleep came to the both of us easily enough, but Caiomhe's turned out to be an uneasy one. It didn't take long for me to detect some sort of whimpering coming from her side of the room, along with a lot of tossing and twisting about on her bed. I cracked open an eyelid to better see what was happening, but I only heard Caiomhe murmuring things in her disturbed slumber.

"Psst! Caiomhe! Shut up!" I hissed, wishing I could get out of my cot and wake her. I decided to risk more volume in my voice. "Caiomhe!"

She sprang from her bed with a shriek, visibly shaking as she calmed herself and wiped the cold sweat off her brow.

"Oh, God, Astrid. Don't scare me like that."

I quirked an eyebrow at her. If anything, _she_ was scaring _me_.

"Well, as long as everything's all right now, I'll just be going back to b—"

Caiomhe froze and jumped to the wooden floor, inching to my bedside and looking up at me.

"Did you hear that?" she burst. Her green eyes had paled considerably in the moonlight coming from her window.

"Hear wha—"

"_Shh!_ There it is again!" She looked back at her window, and as the silence of night grew heavier, I finally heard what her delicate ears had detected.

They were footsteps, seemingly over the grass right by the house, and they were accompanied by a low growl and pant.

I gulped a bit.

"What do you think it is?" I asked. "Do you think it could be a dog? A wolf?"

Caiomhe shook her head viciously at me.

"All of Ireland's wolves are dead, Astrid. Dead. _Dead._ There's not one alive. There can't be. There _can't_—"

She let out a yelp when a head came into view at the window, and she leapt into my bed and cried:

"Oh, my God, Astrid! It's a wolf! It's a wolf! _It's… a… wolf!"_

I would have hid under the covers with her, and I already had the sheet pulled when I heard the supposed "wolf" go, "_Psst!_"

I turned back to the window and squinted at the figure by the pane.

"Astrid! Don't look at it! It will track you down and kill you and… Oh, _God_, it's a bloody wolf! It's a wolf!"

"No," I said, a smile surfacing on my face.

"Wot?" squawked Caiomhe, sitting up and glaring back at the silhouette. I laughed and gave her a slight rap on the head.

"It's my dad."

xXx

A few days passed before Dr. Faolán returned to check up on me. After that visit, however, he left a bottle of some pain killer he had concocted. "One drop in the mouth before you go to bed," he instructed. "And drink plenty of water afterwards. It's quite concentrated."

I nodded and he set the bottle on my nightstand. He continued standing in front of me, his voice slightly less cheery than when I last saw him.

"I keep running into your father, Miss," he said, crossing his arms over his chest and rubbing his shaved chin. "I suspect he may be following me."

I shrugged and shook my head. I knew very well why Jack was keeping an eye on the doctor, but I couldn't betray my father for the man, now could I? Charming as Faolán might have been, he was also _rich_, and Jack was convinced that the young man possessed the green diamond we were looking for.

"My father's that kind of man. The suspicious kind. Especially when it comes to his daughters," I replied with a smirk.

Dr. Faolán looked at me with unexpected severity, his bright green eyes locked on mine and refusing to let go of them. I winced slightly under the glower, and he noticed, because he relaxed into a smile and chuckled to loosen the worry strung in the air.

"Well, maybe next time I will speak with him. If he suspects me of anything, I would like him to tell me. I have nothing to hide." He began to pack up his things. "Though, I understand why he would be mistrusting." He flashed his brilliant white smile at me and winked. My hands fled to my face to cover the glowing spots of red on my cheeks. "Stay in bed, dear girl," he warned, pointing a finger at me as he exited the door.

I _did_ stay in bed, all day and all night, but that did not mean that I could do nothing in my immobile state. Jack had arranged to speak to me each night to inform me of any progress in the prodding of the mysterious Dr. Faolán. What I learned in the night, I planned to be aware of during the doctor's next visits, but the information gathered never became of any use. Faolán's inspections became increasingly brief, but he would stay in Maimeó Úna's cottage for hours afterwards, talking to the others, but especially to Caiomhe.

But for some reason, I didn't mind that he was spending less time with me. My stomach always felt like butterflies were fluttering in its cavity and my mind swooned with amorous thoughts about him whenever he left the room. I would only realize how short his visits had become by nightfall, when I had to take the medicine he gave me.

And when I dreamed, my dreams were bizarre and incomprehensible. I would see figures and hear voices I had never seen or heard before, and the colors of the world did not match. The sky would be orange, and the grass would be blue. People were red, and the stars were black. Caiomhe caught me attempting to walk in my sleep. And one night, when Jack had come to talk to me, I woke believing he was a monster, and I would not speak to him no matter how hard he and Caiomhe tried to tell me that I was imagining things.

I told Dr. Faolán about my nightmares, but he simply said that they were probably my mind's manifestations of the physical pain I was experiencing from my injuries. I always had to bite my tongue to keep myself from denying his explanation. He was a doctor and he knew what he was doing. I trusted him. He must have sensed my worry because he told me to start taking the tonic twice a day. Once in the morning and once and night.

"Tell me if anything changes," he said.

I started having delusions in the middle of the day. One morning when Caiomhe had come into the room to give me my breakfast, I thought she was a wolf—a rabid beast standing on her hind legs with drool dripping from her bloody jowl. When she tried to touch me, I screamed and thought she was attacking me. Roland was the only person I saw clearly, and he came into the room and shook me.

"What's wrong with you, Astrid?" he said, wiping the tears from my face. "What's wrong with you, sister?"

When my only replies were some babbling medley of blubbering and weeping, Roland grew angry and immediately sent a messenger for the doctor. Faolán came readily, looking as prim and neat as he ever had, making others suspect that he was always prepared for these sorts of things, or rather, just prepared in my case.

At this meeting, however, Roland did not hold back his concerns over me. Although my eyes were clouded with images of red fields, green sheep, and a yellow sky, I could hear every word shouted out of my brother's mouth: _You're not helping her! She's getting worse!_ I could not understand Faolán's murmured responses, but the apologetic tone told me that he would be staying by my side for a very long time trying to figure out what was wrong with me.

He gave me a greater dose of my medication and I was induced into a dark and swirling slumber that was surprisingly heavy. I had no dreams and the darkness behind my closed eyelids was so pure and resoundingly deep that I felt as though I had never slept so well in my entire life. I woke feeling renewed the following morning, and I found Jack sitting in a chair beside my cot, awake with his chin resting in his hands and with his elbows on his knees.

He looked paler than usual and the dark semicircles under his eyes seemed particularly ashen.

"Morning, love," he greeted.

"Have you been watching over me?" I asked, winking at the sun that poured from Caiomhe's bedroom window.

"For the past two nights, aye."

I squinted at Jack, my lips pursed to speak.

"Two nights? I couldn't have been asleep for that long."

"You were. Your doctor sedated you with God knows what."

"Where's Roland?"

"Outside…" He paused. "Talking with the Spaniard."

"About what?"

"We're going to steal Faolán's diamond tonight, and hopefully use it as leverage to get him to treat you better."

"But I feel fine."

Jack snorted.

"And how do you know that he has the diamond, Jack?" I questioned.

"I saw him take it out when he was with some of his colleagues. They seem to take it out on a regular basis and huddle around it. It must be very important." He stroked his beaded beard as he stared upward, face pensively molded.

"Where's Caoimhe?"

"In town…" He paused again. "With Faolán."

My eyes were shot open and if I could have sat up, I would have, but all I could do was stretch my jaw wide with a shrill.

"Why in God's name! She told me she didn't even like him!" I continued to fume about how my new female friend had so thoughtlessly betrayed me. She had not shown any interest in the man, but I had, even if it was trivial and out of jest.

"Relax, love," Jack grinned. "She's doing it on behalf of our venture.

Cord suddenly burst into the room, the red on her face a clear indication of her delight.

"Caiomhe and the doctor are back!" she squealed. "He's coming to see how you are, _ma soeur_." Jack got up from his seat and walked to the other side of the room. Shortly after he made that move, Faolán stepped in, smiling his purely white and enchanting smile. The corners of my mouth shifted northward without my awareness.

"It's good to see you awake, my dear girl," he began, sitting down in the seat Jack had vacated specifically for him. Faolán's eyes were incandescently bright—like emeralds twinkling in the sunlight. I noticed that he had not shaved, and that there was a very visible shade of dark brown across his perfect jaw. I felt an odd inclination to rub such stubble with my hand.

"Let's see how your broken bones are fairing, hmm?" Without my answer, he helped me sit upright and slid his firm hands beneath the skirt of my gown, prodding my knee until I winced with pain and then doing the same with my ankle. He kept his face close to my skin at all times—so much so that I could feel the moisture of his breath. His eyes were strictly focused on the spots of injury.

Caiomhe came into the room and was so happy to see me awake that she clapped her hands together, and she would have gone to me, had not Roland entered the room and asked to speak with her shortly. Faolán had stopped his inspections as soon as Roland appeared, and he watched them more closely than he had examined my wounds to the point where he looked almost cross at the words Caiomhe and Roland were exchanging and possibly more so by the way Roland handled Caoimhe—with his hand on the small of her back, and his fingers delicately holding her wrist. Faolán rank horribly of jealousy.

As soon as the couple left to talk about whatever it was that Roland wanted to talk about, Faolán turned back to me and dropped my ankle like a hot brick.

"You're healing well, though not fast enough." He spoke curtly. He took a small bottle out of his coat pocket and set it on the stand beside my cot. "I made this for this specific occasion, Miss Sparrow," he said. "You're going to have to drink all of it. No water this time. Otherwise, the healing effects may not have the impact you so desperately need. Take it before you eat your supper. Right around sunset." He rose from his chair and after a nod to Jack who still lurked in the corner, he said his farewell to me and took his leave.

Jack regained his seat and looked at me gravely.

"Roland's taking Caiomhe to the _Pearl_, Astrid," he said.

"Why?"

"The doctor is going to want to know where she is, and is going to look for her. He'll be away from his home. That gives me plenty of time to get the diamond and escape."

"I'll have no part in this then?" I lamented.

He only smiled at me before getting up and leaving.

By sunset, everyone involved in Jack's plot was in his or her positions, or so I presumed. Cord kindly brought my supper in on a tray and I remembered to take all of my medication before I ate. For a moment I sat in bed feeling the liquid burn down my throat, the bitterness of its taste still clinging to my tongue. For a moment, I sat there silent and still, my mouth gradually going dry, as if the bitterness of my medicine had sucked away all moisture. Heat flooded my face and I could feel the veins against my temple start to beat fervently as blood gushed to my head. The world started to melt into a newly painted scene—one where light was blindingly yellow and the floor was orange, where geometrical shapes became blobs and circles became stars. My heart tightened. I could feel the muscles stretch and freeze and after hearing a shatter and a clash, I thought I tumbled to the floor, my body convulsing.

Someone had heard the crash and had come in. I could hear the footsteps and the distant shouting: "Get the doctor! Get the doctor!" before sense and memory were lost to me.

All I could see and sense were the things in my dreams—the wild swarm of colors, the overbearing yet subtle buzz and hum of something ringing in my ears, the loss of touch and smell. It was a continuous cycle of visual hysteria until a distinct noise leapt out of the sea of nonsense pervading my mind.

It was a growl of some sort. A low, predatorial, canine growl.

Something wet landed on my face and then directly into my eye, and the flashes of color melted away instantly, and my eyes were met with darkness. With a trembling hand, I touched my face and felt the slippery, slight thickness of whatever had fallen onto my face—and then I felt it. Breath, warm and moist, bouncing against my ear and tingling my flesh. Blindly I reached out into the direction of the breather and felt a face stubbled and hairy. I drew my hand back with a squirm and a squeak. It was saliva. Spit was on my face.

"Where… is… she…?" The growling voice buried the words into my ear, the low, guttural tone echoing.

"Who? I… I don't know what you're talking about."

A roar was my reply. A _real_ roar. The snarling roar that came from the throat of a lion or a dog. A flame was lit to illuminate the blackness, and the dizzying wave of colors returned, and I saw myself face to face with a dark, massive creature—blurred and silhouetted in a fiery red background. Its form was beastly.

"Tell me where she is!" The command came again in the same wretched barking. I coward from the black, featureless face, my heart pounding and my brain aching. My mouth was dry and I thought my tongue was swollen so that I could not utter a word. Not even a whimper or a plea.

"Oh, Astrid." The voice changed and the form shifted—both easing into gentleness. I could not distinguish any features, but the outline was familiar and human. A hand stroked my face and the growling had suddenly switched to a soothing, silky voice.

"My dear girl," he began. He ran his thumb over my eyes, and when I opened them again, I stared into the brilliantly green orbs of Dr. Faolán. I could see everything now. I was in a building I did not recognize, up against a wall, and Faolán looked as angelic as ever, his face so close to mine. Night was stationed outside a window to my right, and the full moon shone its silver face with confidence and strength. "Tell me where Caiomhe is," he ordered mildly.

"How did I get here? Where am I? Where's my father? My brother?" He put a finger to my lips.

"You're in my office. I was sent for when you collapsed around sunset. Your condition was so bad I had to have you taken here. Your father and brother were not around to offer their protests, so I did what was best for the situation… and for you."

"Am I healed? Can I leave?"

He chuckled.

"Oh, no, my dear girl. You must tell me where Caiomhe is before I release you." His grip on me constricted. I felt his entire body tense. His eyes flickered wildly.

"Why?" I dared to ask.

"Because I _need_ her." He bent his head so that his nose hovered a hair's width from the nape of my neck. "You're wearing one of her dresses." He sniffed me. "I can smell her on you." He seemed to flinch and he looked back at me, his face contorting again into one of anger. "I _need_ her, Astrid. You will tell me where she is!" As he yelled his last words the growl returned in his voice and his face turned black. I felt his cold, calloused hands seize my neck and curl his rigid fingers tightly around my throat.

The world became unfamiliar and alien, and all memory of Dr. Faolán had disappeared. I was at the mercy of some hideous being that I could not identify, one I could not even see clearly because of some ailment to my eyes.

"Why… do… you need… her?" I managed to wheeze. I couldn't feel my feet on the ground anymore. If he dared to drop me, I'd crumble seeing as I was temporarily incapable of standing solo.

"To stop _this_!" he screamed, followed by some agonized howl. "I can't stop it without her or my diamond." In his despair he let go of me and I fell limp onto the floor, watching his hulking, beast-like silhouette retreat into some corner in the fiery hellworld now visible to me. "I can't stop it." He punched at a wall. "She needs to be mine. I need her, Astrid. _You have to tell me where she is!_"

My tongue was frozen in my jaw, and I remained silent save for an occasional wish for Jack to take to me away, and he must have heard me because his growling grew louder, his breathing more heavy and fierce. The wooden floor creaked under pressure of breaking as it suffered his muscled weight.

"_Jack Sparrow_? Is he responsible for this? Is he responsible for making me turn into what I am! I haven't made this transformation for a decade!" He crouched low beside me and grabbed me by the head, his claw digging into my scalp. As I looked at him, all I could see were a pair of red, flaming eyes in a pitch black face. But I recognized a monster when I saw one and the information I held would not be surrendered.

A new pair of feet scampered into the room, and my head was instantly dropped.

"Did someone say my name? I could have sworn—"

My heart leapt up into my throat.

"Jack?"

Faolán abandoned me and bounded over to Jack's place by a door. I could tell Jack apart from the rest of the crimson earth because he appeared blue, and he retained his human figure, unlike Faolán who seemed more like a wolf than anything else.

"Shut up, you backstabbing blackguard," roared Faolán. "I gave you my trust."

"And _I_ trusted you to take care of my daughter. And here she is blind as a bat and still horribly disabled. Well, not disabled, but sprawled and nearly unconscious on the floor."

Faolán bristled.

"If you want her, you will have to tell me where Caiomhe is."

"If you want to know where O'Brien's sister is, you'll have to give me Astrid," Jack happily replied.

"That's the same thing!"

"No, it's not. Mine is said in my favor and you're the subject of the sentence."

Jack welcomed himself inside and took a casual step towards me. He fingered something behind his back and the object in his possession sparkled green.

"Then I'll rip you to shreds!" threatened Faolán, pursuing Jack with a web of saliva dripping from his teeth. His back legs scraped against the wooden floor as he prepared to pounce on my father, and he was about to spring forward when Jack pulled the green gem from behind his back and held it in front of him, just as Faolán was about to swing his bear-like paw straight across Jack's grinning face.

Upon seeing the jewel glittering before him, Faolán—struck dumb from shock—stumbled backwards.

"Freedom from your curse in a conveniently and expensively condensed form," mused Jack. The diamond was practically ablaze in the moonlight. Faolán looked dazed and confused, and I could almost feel the rapid thump of his heart pulsating from his chest through the wooden floor planks. His emotion was that strong. "You want it?" Jack raised his arm. Faolán got back on his feet. "Fetch, boy!" And Captain Sparrow chucked the thing as far as he could across the room before spinning around, looking at me, and grumbling, "Parenting always complicates things" before picking me up and sprinting out of the building.

"Won't he follow us?" I wondered, as Jack sped off down a street.

"Not likely. There are people out here and well, as soon as they see _him_, he's dead."

For a time we followed the road, and I was surprised that Jack had not glanced over his shoulder once to see if our attacker was still pursuing us. More so, I was surprised that he was not complaining that he had forsaken his precious treasure for me.

"After a half hour of thought, I concluded that a half-blind, delusional, broken daughter was more important than a perfectly cut and perfectly green and perfectly shiny diamond that would have merited me at least a eighty thousand pieces of eight," he told me as we reached the outskirts of the town and entered rural country. His pace slowed and he drifted from the road.

"Oh, so that's what I'm worth? Eighty thousand pieces of eight?"

"At least you're not dead. Otherwise, you wouldn't be worth anything."

His reply shut me up, and we crept into a forest, me still in Jack's arms. Despite the immense darkness obstructing our eyesight, my father had some sense of where he was going and after he reached a glade, he set me down on the ground and waited a few moments before two familiar shapes appeared. It was Roland and Caiomhe judging by the voices I heard. Their forms, like Faolán's, were a bit distorted.

"What of the doctor?" asked my brother, handing Jack a pistol and a small pouch. As Jack loaded the pistol he answered, calmly:

"Dearest Doctor Faolán will be arriving shortly, most likely foaming about the face and smelling like a sweaty bear, ready to tear me limb from limb all at the expense of your dearly beloved." He gestured at Caiomhe who stood innocently by Roland's side.

"All right," said Roland. 'What can I do to help?"

"Get Astrid out of here."

With a nod, Roland complied and lifted me up, and after a few more hushed words with Jack, we went forth, further into the forest with Caiomhe right by Roland's side. The colors I was seeing started to fade into blackness, and I tugged on Roland's sleeve.

"I can't see anything, Roland," I said, my voice shaking. "I can't see anything!"

"Shh, Astrid. Be quiet. We don't want to be caught."

"But I can't see anything!"

My new disability was driving me into hysteria, and in the midst of my cries, Caiomhe gasped at the mere sound of a snapped twig.

"Roland," she said warily.

"Caiomhe, I'm a bit preoccupied. If you can get my sister to stop complaining, I'll be happy to—"

There was another snap and a rustle in the brush, and Roland quickly set me on the ground to hold fast to Caiomhe, whose breathing had hastened at an alarming rate. We waited for a while in the darkness, the silence of the forest a deafening omen. And then we heard it: a deep, resonating growl.

"Dammit," muttered Roland. "Why'd I give Jack the silver bullets?"

"You don't let go of me, Roland William Turner," wept Caiomhe. "Don't ye dare let go of me."

"I won't, Caiomhe. I won't. Stop crying. He'll find us. Stop, Caiomhe, please."

She couldn't obey. Fear had summoned her tears.

A voice rang out through the trees.

"My dear Caiomhe, why do you weep? What are you afraid of, my dear?" I shuddered instinctively at Faolán deceiving, dulcet voice.

"Stay back, ye fiend!" Caiomhe screamed.

"Oh, but why?" My ears twitched as I heard footsteps, and by the sound, I assumed that Faolán was very close to me. "Astrid seems in distress. Poor thing. I'd say she's completely blind now. Blind with a broken body. Such a waste."

It was Roland's turn to shout into the night.

"You despicable bastard! I'll kill you!"

I felt a pair of firm, human hands left me up and hold me gently against a warm, human body. Faolán's voice was too close for comfort, and I was helpless in his grip again.

"Oh, but you can't do anything to me, Turner," snickered the doctor. "And what would you have me do to your dear sister, hmm? Shall I give her a bite and turn her into a thing like me? Or will I poison her to death as I have been slowly poisoning her for the past few weeks? But this time it will be quick. A quick dose of deadly nightshade, my dear English girl, and you'll be set in your grave." He laughed wickedly. "_Belladonna_, indeed."

Roland unleashed an oath into the air.

"Or," offered Faolán, "you can give me Caiomhe. And I'll have my bride—and my permanent cure for agony—and you'll have your blind, but living, sister. What will it be, my dear boy?"

Before Roland could reply, another option was proposed, though not by Faolán.

"_Or_," said a familiar voice, "Astrid can be left out of this—she's blind, broken, and none too smart, plainly useless—Turner's bonnie lass can sail away on a ship to the Canary Islands, and _you_ can have your thick wolfy pelt comfortably hoisted up on the O'Brien cottage wall as a hunting prize. Oh, and I can have your diamond."

"I'm afraid your terms are far too particular and difficult to carry out, Captain Sparrow," Faolán answered coolly. "Only one of them can be guaranteed. Which one will it be?"

Jack didn't hesitate to give us the ultimatum.

"The diamond."

"Jack!" Roland's protest was futile.

"Agreed." I assumed the exchange took place and Jack received his diamond because Faolán had dropped me and his now trademark growl had returned, only at his more bestial level.

With a grunt and a bark, he took a pounce towards Roland and Caiomhe and with perfect accuracy, landed on his prey; Roland shouted an echoing "Caiomhe!" before Faolán was upon them. From where I lay, I heard the canine sounds of Faolán's foul descent upon my brother and friend—the sound of a dog feasting in ecstasy—that was, until a shot rang into the air, followed by another, and still, another.

A howl pierced the air, and Caiomhe's voice rang true despite the ordeal she had just gone through.

"Roland, Roland, are you all right?" she asked. My brother moaned in the pitch blackness of my mind.

"I'm fine. I'm not badly hurt," he answered.

Jack dropped the pistol in his hand and let out a shallow breath.

"No," he said dourly. "But you've been bitten."

xXx

Three days after the last full moon and Roland's bite had healed, but he was warned of his new curse. Jack was obliged to give the diamond we had all suffered much over to my brother, as it was the only object that could tame the effects of the bite during the full moon. I, on the other hand, still suffered in eternal darkness, and my sight had not returned. I had lost all hope of vision and had fallen into a bout with despair when, on our last day in Ireland, an unexpected visitor stopped by Maimeó Una's cottage to see me.

By Caiomhe's clear disapproval to let this visitor in the house, I judged that it was Faolán, and I grew sick with the fear that he had survived his wounds. I thought silver bullets were supposed to take care of creatures like him, but Jack had told me that it wasn't so. He had shot the doctor in the shoulder, arm, and leg—and Faolán had lived.

Because Caiomhe displayed her hate for the man so blatantly, but because he was the only person who could possibly return my sight, she was ushered out of the house against her will. I heard from Roland later on that her brother had to carry her out while she was kicking and screaming and cursing as well as any other seasoned sailor.

"I've put you through hell, dear girl," said Faolán. I felt his hand touch mine. I curled my fingers inward under my palm. "I nearly killed you."

"Leave," I spat at him. "You've done enough damage. Rendered me a blind woman and plagued my brother with your evil curse. You stay away from me!"

"I can't heal your brother, Miss, but I've a cure to your blindness… if you will have it."

I had no choice but to consent. Irony made it so that he was my only chance.

"What are you going to give me? More poison?"

"Yes, actually, but it's counteractive. It may not work right away, but it is worth a shot."

He put two drops of some liquid onto each of my eyes, and though it stung and burned a little, and I could feel my pupils swell and constrict, light gradually poked through the blackness, and the world I had been shut out from for a full three days and four nights returned to me, although a bit blurred. After a few more drops, and I could make out faces and objects. After an hour of waiting and medication, my sight was fully restored, but it still had its problems. Things far away were still obscured, and at times when I blinked and reopened my eyes, I would have flashes of momentary darkness. But otherwise, I could see again.

I stared up into Dr. Faolán's repentant face.

"Are you… you know… cured as well?" I asked him. He smiled at me.

"I'll let you know come the next full moon."

"How will I know? I won't be here."

"Well, that brings me to my next subject, Miss. I'm going to follow in my uncle's footsteps and serve your Navy for a few years. I'll see how it goes. Until arrangements are made, however, I will be in London, staying with said uncle until I am deployed. If you have my uncle's address, you can write to me, and I will reply to you in return. You will just have to say where you will be so that my letter does not get lost to sea."

"And what if you are not cured? You will be endangering one of my dearest friends and his family. He has a daughter, you know. She's five."

"I know," he smiled. "But I feel relatively… unburdened, renewed—free. My doubts are practically nonexistent."

"And better tempered."

"That, too. And… miraculously, I do not feel a passionate attachment to Miss O'Brien anymore. I feel no… inclination to find myself a wife—seeing as finding a bride is another cure for my… disease, if you will."

"Well, if that's the case then, you won't mind it if I give you a 'thank-you' kiss?"

I wondered what Dr. David Cavanaugh would think if he knew that I kissed his nephew.

"I'm sorry, dear girl," said Faolán. "But I've sworn off English women. You are the first Englishwoman I have ever treated," he allowed, "and frankly, look at all the trouble you've caused."

Despite what he said about me, which I was sure was just a bit of a tease, as we prepared for departure, I kindly asked Hernán, who had gently offered himself as my leaning board (my injuries still kept me from walking), to take me to Faolán. Before the young doctor could utter any protest, I kissed him on the cheek.

As Hernán escorted me back to the ship, I saw Caiomhe and Roland standing nose to nose, hands together.

"Ye'll come back for me, aye?" said the Irish girl to her English beloved.

"I will, Caiomhe. I will."

"I'll miss ye terribly, Roland." The red-haired girl sniffed and wiped at her eyes. Roland held her close. I sighed happily and pressed a hand over my heart.

"What are you sighing so dreamily about?" asked the Spaniard.

"Oh, nothing," I mused. "It's just… I think my brother has finally, _finally_ found true love."

"Yes, and that is something to be happy about," he replied dryly.

"Your sarcasm is unfitting, Dago. Explain yourself."

He obliged with a simper.

"Well, your brother came to Ireland and found true love. And well, you, you came out empty handed."

"I wouldn't say that's a bad thing."

"Why not?"

I smiled and looked over my shoulder, seeing Tom walking but a few paces behind us. Further behind him was Jack, who was looking down at me. I gave my father a wave, and both he and the Irishman replied.

"Nothing," I sang. "I just have a feeling that my partner for life is very close." I paused. "That, and… well, after my experience with long distance relationships, I don't think one with Dr. Faolán would have ever worked out."


End file.
